The Serpents' Society and the Guild of the Eagle
by Amberdulen
Summary: {Complete} Lord Voldemort is rising across the land ... and the Society for Slytherin Advancement is caught in his shadow. Parallels OotP.
1. Midnight in the Crypt

**Title:** The Serpents' Society and the Guild of the Eagle  
**Author:** Amberdulen  
**Rating:** PG for a little scary stuff and some marginally off-color jokes.  
**Summary:** This is a parallel novel to The Order of the Phoenix and a sequel to the previous four Serpents' Society novels. Great pains have been taken to make sure that this book doesn't change the story told in GoF or contradict anything in the series. My amazing and loyal beta-reader Giesbrecht has seen to that. If you want to start at the beginning, don't; skip straight to The Serpents' Society and the Quest for the Heir (parallel of CoS), because it's better than the first and lays a perfectly good foundation itself.  
**Spoilers:** All five novels and both textbooks.  
**Shipping:** Strictly Canon.  
**Disclaimer:** All the amusing and clever stuff belongs to Ms. Rowling, as do most of the proper nouns. Really, if you can't tell the difference between hers and mine, what are you doing reading this? 

**Author's Note:**  
So. Here we are again. Over a year after OotP came out, nearly three and a half years after I conceived of Beth and her family during an especially boring day at my summer job, the fifth and last S.S.A. book is finally hitting the virtual shelves.

Writing a preface feels really pompous, especially on something as lowbrow as fan fiction. Really, this stuff is about two rungs down from the penny dreadfuls and a step above reality-TV scripts. But the fact is that everything changed when OotP came out, and people whose fics tie in tightly to Canon really got blasted (especially since JKR went on her factoid-dropping spree over the summer). That makes a preface pompous but necessary. Much like Percy.

So here's how it is.

I have been revising the first four books since OotP came out, but with the revelation that Blaise is in fact a boy, the changes went from marginal to dramatic. I decided that it's not fair to make you guys read the whole stupid thing again, and try to completely revise your thinking on Blaise (and, while I'm at it, Morag), so I'm keeping them the way they are on FF.N. Hopefully, when all five get fully updated I can put them on the Sugarquill with boy-Blaise and girl-Morag.

There were some changes that OotP dictated:

- Uther Montague, Chaser, is now Uther Bole, Beater. The Chaser Montague from book 3 is now Donegal Montague, who was (in my new fanon) expelled at the end of that book for failing practically everything.  
- Bruce's full name is Miles Bruce Bletchley.  
- Mervin's crazy Great-Uncle Mundungus is now his no-good Cousin Mundungus.  
- The format of the N.E.W.T.s has been juggled to match that of the O.W.L.s, and the scoring system now matches JKR's.  
- Those O.W.L.s practice sessions they had in book 3 were specially arranged, not a school requirement.  
- To match the prefect system, Melissa and Mervin have been made the Slytherin prefects for Beth's year.  
- During fifth year, Snape directed Beth toward a career in Alchemy and recommended that she start taking Herbology again - advice she ignored in her sixth year, but has decided to take in her last year.

Hopefully, nearly everything else is so small that you - adept as you are at gleaning microscopic details from JKR's world - won't notice.

Anyway, that's it. This is Beth and co.'s last year at Hogwarts, so this is the last S.S.A. book. I'll be fixing stuff as it comes up (half-blood prince, indeed) and if something enormous happens there may be an epilogue or some one-shots, but at this point I'm ready to call it quits. Thank you for your patience. Thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing, emailing me, friending me on your livejournals, and directing me to your own and others' wonderful fics. Reading and writing are fun and all, but it's you people that make them really special. Now on with the show...

* * *

**Chapter One: Midnight in the Crypt**

The graveyard in Little Hangleton lay dark and solemn under a cool crescent moon.

Beth Parson, seventeen, huddled by a yew tree and clutched her black cloak more tightly around her shoulders. She'd been standing there for ten minutes now, watching the graveyard fill with other witches and wizards, most of whom, like her, wore black. Beth knew that they wore another common article: a pewter ring, engraved with the crest of the Society for Slytherin Advancement.

A broomstick sank quietly down beside her and a small dark figure disembarked. "Early, are we?" came a cynical voice.

"Better than being late, Evan," said Beth, without turning to look at him.

Evan Wilkes let out a brief and humorless laugh. He propped his broomstick against the tree and crossed his arms, surveying the graveyard and the wizards milling around it. "Hasn't been long, has it?" he said, black hair falling into his moody eyes.

It hadn't been long at all - in fact, only three weeks had passed since the end of the school year, when they had both stood in the same graveyard. Then, of course, it had been with a very different group of people.

"Where's your boyfriend?"

"He'll be here." A grin slipped over Beth's face despite herself. Richard Shaw had only worn the official title of "boyfriend" for three weeks. She hadn't even seen him since then. "You know Rich. He'd fall over dead if he missed a meeting."

"In this case, he might," said Evan darkly.

He started across the graveyard with hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Beth watched the small dark figure fade into the night until it was difficult to distinguish him from the gravestones or distant trees. She sighed and leaned her head back against the tree trunk. Everything seemed darker these days.

"Beth - how are you?"

Everything except this.

Beth turned her face to see Richard standing beside her with his familiar, proud grin. She smiled back. "It's good to see you."

"Given the situation," said Richard, "I was hoping you wouldn't be able to make it."

"I passed my Apparation test last week," said Beth. "I didn't have an excuse."

They looked at each other for a minute; then they both stepped forward into each others' arms.

"I missed you," Richard said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"So did I," Beth said.

She could feel him sigh. "I don't think the Dark Lord should know about us," he murmured, voice tingling in her ear. "Dangerous..."

"Of course." Beth pulled away reluctantly. "Rich, he's going to ask about the Ledger. What are you?"

"Just tell him I had it last," Richard said, a sudden fierceness in his voice. "No one else needs to get involved. I'll take care of it." He stood up and looked around. "Where's Mervin?"

"I saw him over there," Beth told him, pointing to a vast tombstone cracked down the center. "Be careful-"

But Richard was already halfway across the graveyard.

Beth sighed. Richard's commitment to duty bordered on the fanatical. It was a quality she usually admired - but these days, when lines of loyalty were being drawn, she would have preferred him to heed more closely his own self-preservation.

The church bells of Little Hangleton began to chime midnight. All across the graveyard, black-hooded figures drifted toward the door of the Smithers crypt. One by one, they approached the door of the tomb and sank through the ghostly insubstantiality of the stone wall.

Beth hazarded a glance at the cracked gravestone of Tom Riddle, where Mervin and Richard stood conversing intently. For a moment she thought she saw a flurry of white sparks swirl around Richard's head; she looked closer, and they were gone. Mervin patted Richard on the shoulder encouragingly and the two set off for the crypt. Beth followed.

The inside of the crypt was vast, with high sandstone walls engraved with the names of the membership. About a hundred chairs had been set up in neat rows, leaving a broad aisle down the center. The Society sat in clusters: half a dozen old men in one corner, a clutch of young women in another. Beth passed a pair of beak-nosed men, clad in black from head to toe; one of them tipped his cap to her.

"Evening, Miss Parson," he droned, in a bored, dour voice.

The other gave a mock start. "Blimey, Bode, forgot to put on yer accent this mornin'?"

"I say, roight you are," Bode said, instantly dropping back into his Cockney brogue. "Bloody careless of me, eh?"

Beth greeted Bode and Croaker with a smile and wave. It was cheering to see that the Unspeakables were as irrepressible as ever. She went on as the pair of them accosted the gray-haired, sharp-chinned Professor Grubbly-Plank and bullied her into sitting with them.

"Beth Parson. My dear girl."

The gravelly voice was vaguely familiar. Beth turned around. An old man, hawkish and hunched, smiled up at her in a very unsettling way.

"Beth Parson," he said again.

"Yes," said Beth, wanting very strongly to leave.

The old man jabbed at her with one long finger. "I remember you. I saw you. You left the circle..."

"What are you?"

Beth broke off and her stomach plummeted. _You left the circle._ She knew, suddenly, where she had heard the voice, and what he had meant...

"Ebenezer Nott," she said aloud.

"Ah, you remember as well," Nott said shrewdly. "Our Lord was distracted, but I saw you, I saw the two young ones, you broke from the circle and dashed away ... with the snake to guard you, the snake to stop Rothbard - oh yes, I saw you. I saw you take the book."

Beth stood quite still.

"Our Lord will want his Ledger," Nott went on, watching her face closely.

"I don't have it," said Beth tonelessly. "Neither does Evan."

"Of course," said Nott. He leaned closer; Beth caught a whiff of ancient books and dusty treasures. "But who does?"

Beth was silent.

"Either way, our Lord will find out," said Nott. His voice was urgent. "He will draw it from your mouth with pain; he will pry it from your mind with magic. Tell me, so that I will tell him, and you will be spared."

Nott was right, and Beth loathed the fact. Besides, Richard wanted her to name him, he had anticipated it. She fervently hoped that he had planned for it as well.

"I gave it to Richard Shaw," she said reluctantly.

"Aah." Nott rolled back on his heels. "Your young president, of course. Very wise ... I'll see that the Dark Lord knows of your cooperation."

"Thanks," said Beth. The word was bitter. She turned and walked away.

She found her classmates Melissa Ollivander and Bruce Bletchley seated together near the wall, and hurried toward them. "Hi," she said, sliding in beside them. "How was your summer?"

"Fine until now," said Bruce.

Melissa slapped his arm sharply. "I don't suppose you could hold your tongue just for one night!" She turned back to Beth. "I'm fine. We went straight off to Morocco after school, but that only took a week and we didn't make the sale anyway, so I was free to come back here, Uncle Ollivander's here too, we told my parents we were off to see a symphony..." She trailed off; her chatty tone died away. "I'm sorry about your brother."

"Me too." Lycaeon Parson had spent exactly eleven months out of Azkaban until a conviction of wand theft - in order to answer the Dark Lord's call - had sent him straight back in again. Beth had tried hard not to think about him in the past two weeks. She was furious that he had broken his parole, more furious that he had allowed the Dark Mark to be put on her in childhood ... and she missed him more than she had ever imagined.

"Hold still," Bruce said suddenly. "Here it comes again."

A golden quill whizzed around the ceiling, hovering over the heads of members and scrawling in the clear air before buzzing off to harass someone on the other side of the room. It zipped over to Beth, scratched _Elizabeth Phaedra Parson_ in shimmering letters above her head, and then darted over to scribble _Broderick Benjamin Bode_ over the head of the Unspeakable. Beth's name faded from the air in a few moments.

Beth raised her eyebrows. "He's taking attendance?"

Melissa gestured to the front of the room. "Nott's taking it for him."

The golden quill skimmed down the aisle and into the outstretched hand of the elderly Secretary and founding member. Ebenezer Nott pocketed the quill and rolled up a parchment from the podium before him.

"Pending the arrival of our president," he said, his gravelly voice echoing in the sepulcher, "this meeting of the Society for Slytherin Advancement is now called to order."

A shiver ran up Beth's spine. How often she had heard Richard use those same words - and how different, how perverted they sounded now.

"My colleagues." Nott beamed at them. This was his moment: a lifetime of servitude, rewarded in glory. "My friends."

"We are not your friends," said Celestina Warbeck clearly.

All eyes turned toward the professional singer. Without her shimmering robes and elaborate hairdo, she looked no more glamorous than anyone else in the room; but her bearing was regal, and the strength in her voice was arresting.

Nott did not look perturbed. He laughed, a hoarse, gurgling sound. "You will be." He cast his eyes to the other side of the room. "In the meantime... You two. The Unspeakables." Bode and Croaker started, glanced at each other, and stood up of one accord. "I have a question for you..."

But instead of asking, Nott leveled his wand at Croaker and greedily whispered, "_Legilimens._"

Several things happened at once. A thin blue cord streamed from the Secretary's wand and coiled several times around Croaker's forehead; it then faded through the scalp as cleanly as a warm knife through butter. Instantly Croaker's eyes grew as wide and unfocused as a doll's. Bode drew his wand and leapt in front of his friend, shouting, "_Get out of 'is 'ead!_" even as the blue cord pierced his own temple. Both Unspeakables sank to the ground. At the same time, Professor Grubbly-Plank leapt to her feet.

"Ebenezer, you're out of order!" bellowed Professor Grubbly-Plank, tearing the pipe from her mouth. "No illegal curses on other members, you helped write the Code yourself fifty years ago!"

"Times have changed, you old hag!" Nott snarled.

There was a sound like a crack of thunder...

...a sudden chill...

...and a voice.

"Yes. Times have indeed changed."

At the front of the sepulcher, wrapped in a plain black cloak and hood that hid everything but his form, loomed the terrible figure of the Dark Lord.

"You were mine once ... and I lost you. Now you are mine again."

Ebenezer Nott's voice quivered with excitement. "What would you have us do, my Lord?"

"I want you to do nothing."

Nott's rugged face fell. "My lord?"

"You will do nothing," he repeated. "You will betray nothing. You will not make it known that I have returned to - no - that I have exceeded my former strength."

Nott looked intensely disappointed.

"The fools of the Ministry of Magic deny my existence ... very well. They make it all the easier for me..."

His chilly gaze swept the congregation.

"In the meantime, I have plans that I will allow my Death Eaters to pursue. You will be kept in reserve ... my elite ... though some of you will be of use to me soon." His eyes flicked towards Bode and Croaker. "Only one thing eludes me, and that will be resolved within moments." He turned suddenly and looked straight out at the Society. "I want my Ledger."

There was a collective intake of breath. Don't ask me, Beth thought fervently, don't look at me...

"I know who has it, my Lord."

The Dark Lord glanced down at Ebenezer Nott. "Do you."

"Oh yes. It is with Richard Shaw, my Lord."

Nott was servile, groveling, a shriveled old house-elf of a man. He hadn't asked her beforehand to protect her, Beth realized. He had done it to gain rank with Voldemort. The thought was no more comforting. Still, she felt a shameful relief. The less the Dark Lord realized she existed, the better.

"The young President. Step forward, Richard Shaw."

About halfway back among the rows of chairs, Richard Shaw stood up and walked to the center aisle. He stood directly in front of the Dark Lord, just yards away, straight-backed, with his hands at his sides. He kept his eyes averted, but when he spoke it was with strength and clarity.

"The Ledger is not in my possession."

Beth's heart thumped madly behind her ribs. This was his plan - straightforward denial? She should never have gone along with it. _Oh Rich,_ she thought, holding her breath unconsciously, _I'm going to have to watch you die._ Melissa reached over and gripped her hand, hard.

Both Richard and the Dark Lord stood silently facing one another for a tense lifetime. Then the Dark Lord spoke. His cold voice was soft and mild, which made his words all the more frightening.

"I suspect that you are lying."

The Dark Lord flicked his wand. Instantly, Richard was lifted bodily and thrown against the opposite wall. Some of the members gasped. Before he could stand back up, a gleaming silver dagger sprang from the Dark Lord's wand and hurtled across the room. It stopped a fraction of an inch from Richard's throat.

"Let's try again, shall we?" The knife pressed in closer and a bead of red appeared at the very tip. "Where is my Ledger?"

"Dumbledore has it!"

The cry echoed through the sepulcher and died into silence.

The knife did not waver. The Dark Lord let out his breath in a hiss. "Albus Dumbledore."

"Yes." Richard swallowed hard; his Adam's apple grazed against the tip of the knife. "I gave it to him for safe keeping."

The Dark Lord said nothing. His serpentine eyes were fixed on Richard's face, searching for the tremor of fear, or the flicker of a lie.

"He won't return it to anyone but me," said Richard. His voice was carefully expressionless. "I warned him to beware of Polyjuice potion or illusions."

The Dark Lord turned away and the knife vanished in a silver whiff of smoke. "I would have expected such careful planning from my Society," he hissed, "but not such betrayal."

Richard stood up slowly. "I had not yet realized ... your power," he said hesitantly. "I never realized how great your reign will be ... how mighty you had grown..."

No one dared take their eyes from either figure. Beth felt her stomach churn.

"I didn't know..." Richard swallowed again. "Forgive me ... my lord."

"You will bring me the Ledger." The Dark Lord had his back to the Society.

"Yes."

"Within a week."

Richard hesitated. "He may become suspicious if I ask for its return so soon. Let it stay for one month. Dumbledore's nobility is his weakness. He will not read it."

_He is brave,_ Beth thought, her heart pounding. _Brave, and stupid._

"I do not bargain," said the Dark Lord. He paused; the air seemed to chill. "But you make a valid point." He turned back around; his gaze was terrible. "You will bring me my Ledger before the month is up. Or the consequences..." He paused, and let loose suddenly with a cold, thoroughly heartless laugh. "The consequences will be dire."

Richard bobbed his head. "I understand, my Lord."

"Do you?" The Dark Lord turned and wandered toward the wall, brushing the list of engraved names with one long, skeletal finger. "Do any of you truly understand? You are mine. I own you."

Beth cast a glance at Ebenezer Nott. He was nodding judiciously, a slightly mad light in his eyes.

"These walls are remarkable," the Dark Lord said slowly, still gazing at the many engraved names. "Very remarkable indeed."

He raised a hand, palm upward, as if holding an invisible tray. His other hand crept wormlike along the wall until it found a name.

From the center of his upraised palm grew a translucent blue orb, immaterial, as large as one of Trelawney's crystal balls. A living picture came together in the center of it. Blaise Zabini, wearing a fluffy party dress that did not suit her, stood at the door of a tastefully furnished sitting room, nervously bidding farewell to a small party of well-dressed adults. A small light-haired woman - unmistakably Blaise's mother - came up behind her. Though miniature and blue-tinted, the picture was perfectly clear. The Dark Lord turned a lazy eye to the tiny image of Blaise before removing his hand from the wall. The blue orb vanished.

"_I will always know._"

The Dark Lord vanished into thin air; but his words hung for many moments after he had gone.

-'-'-'-

The cemetery filled like a schoolyard at the end of the day: in a matter of moments, one hundred Society members materialized through the door to the crypt and began to whisper in groups, seek out broomsticks, or cluster around Portkeys with their friends.

Beth met Richard by the yew tree. They stood and looked at each other for long moments. Neither had been sure they would survive the meeting.

Beth broke the silence.

"Don't forget about dinner next Thursday. Dad's really wanting to meet you."

Richard's mouth twitched and slowly turned into a full grin. "I wouldn't miss it for anything," he said gallantly. "My parents are expecting you the week after. They've been desperately curious about you for years."

"That's intimidating," said Beth. "I hope I don't disappoint."

Mervin Fletcher hurried up to the pair of them. "Feeling all right, Rich?" he said, in a businesslike tone.

Richard took a breath. "Just fine," he said, after considering it. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking slightly. "Fine enough, anyhow."

"Splendid. Bend over."

"Eh?"

"Lean down," Mervin repeated irritably.

Casting a confused glance at Beth, Richard bowed his head toward Mervin, who took out his wand and rapped Richard smartly on the head. A burst of white sparks enveloped his head and sank into his hair like dying embers.

Richard stood back up.

For a moment nothing happened. Then Richard's shoulders jerked and an expression of sheer disbelief crossed his face. "I was lying." He looked from Mervin to Beth with wide eyes. "I lied to the Dark Lord - and _lived?_"

"Sure looks like it," said Mervin. He dropped his wand into his back pocket and crossed his arms.

Richard stared at the ground for long moments, working out his memories. Then he turned to Mervin. "So where is the Ledger, really?"

"At home," said Mervin, "in your sock drawer."


	2. A Family Affair

**Chapter Two: A Family Affair**

The kitchen was a riot of clattering cutlery and clanking pots.

Mr. Parson relaxed in his patched recliner, the morning issue of the Dorset Echo open on his lap. If the clamor bothered him, he didn't show it; in fact, he seemed inwardly amused, with a small smile hovering at his lips as he scanned the morning headlines.

Beth careened into the living room and skidded to a halt in front of him. She had a long streak of something on the side of her face; her hair was frizzing up from the heat of the kitchen. "I can't find any potholders," she said breathlessly. "I laid them right there and then - and the meat is going to burn if I can't - and he'll be here any minute-"

Mr. Parson looked her up and down contemplatively. "Have you looked in the refrigerator?" he said at last.

Beth scowled. "No, I-" Her brow cleared suddenly. "Hang on-"

Her father waited patiently until she reappeared, sliding some well-chilled oven mitts onto her hands. "Now, listen," she said severely, without so much as a thank-you, "I _forbid_ you to ask Richard any embarrassing questions, or tell embarrassing stories, or make bad jokes-"

"Perhaps," said Mr. Parson, "I shouldn't speak at all."

Beth smacked him in the arm with a refrigerated pot holder. "Do _not_ scare him away, Dad. I am serious."

"Come here," said Mr. Parson gently, "you've something on your face."

Beth sighed. Mr. Parson licked his calloused thumb and rubbed it against her cheek until the mark came off. "Now," he said, patting her hand, "let's just settle down, shall we? If Richard is willing to come all this way just for dinner, I'm sure that nothing is going to frighten him away."

"You're right," said Beth, a little wearily. "You're right..."

The doorbell rang.

"Oh _bugger,_" said Beth frantically, and dashed to the door.

She checked the pork roast, tossed down the potholders, patted her hair (ineffectively), stirred the peas, rearranged the silverware, and straightened her clothes in a matter of seconds. She took a deep breath, put on a smile, and opened the door.

Richard Shaw stood there with a broomstick in one hand and a vase of flowers in the other. He looked rather windswept.

"Hi," said Beth. Her heartbeat calmed at the sight of him. It was just Richard, after all. "Come in."

"Hullo," said Richard. He held out the vase of flowers.

Beth took the flowers awkwardly. "Thanks ... I'll stick them on the table."

"Oh, don't," said Richard, frowning, "they'll just try to..."

One of the germaniums lunged out at Beth's hands and snapped at her knuckle. She jumped back a step and very hastily put the vase on the kitchen counter.

"Fanged germaniums," she said, watching the flowers try to bite their way out of the vase.

"They're considered very stylish these days," said Richard. "Or so I'm told..." He looked past Beth's shoulder into the hall, where Mr. Parson was coming slowly into the kitchen. "This must be your father."

"Richard Shaw." Mr. Parson held out his hand, wrinkled face curved in a warm, sweet smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

"The pleasure's mine, sir," said Richard cheerfully. It looked to Beth like he was intentionally reining in the vigor of his handshake. "You have a charming daughter."

"And you," said Mr. Parson, a twinkle in his eye, "have excellent taste."

Richard laughed. Mr. Parson chuckled along with him. Beth, simultaneously rolling her eyes and running a horrible blush, moved past them both and into the kitchen, where she started setting out the food.

"Thank you for having me," said Richard, following Mr. Parson to the kitchen table.

Her father smiled. "Oh, we're delighted," he said, his slow voice welcoming. "It's not often we get visitors, is it, Bethy?"

"No," Beth admitted, blushing a little more. She whisked the saucer full of peas from the stove and set it in the middle of the table. "We're having pork roast," she said to Richard nervously. "Is that all right? I know it's not much, but-"

Richard laid a hand on her arm and looked up at her until she was forced to meet his eyes. "It's fine," he said deliberately.

Beth gave a hesitant smile and blushed even brighter than before. She hurried away to pull the pork roast from the oven.

"Beth's always spoken of you highly," said Richard, while Beth was laying out the food, "but she never really got into details. Do you work?"

"Oh, I've retired," said Mr. Parson warmly. "Have you any plans for the future, now that you've left school?"

To Beth's surprise, Richard actually looked a little put off at the question. "Well, I ... I'll probably join my father's business. Family-owned, you see. It's expected..."

"That can be very important, you know," said Mr. Parson.

"Yes, it can," Richard said, but his agreement was not wholehearted.

Beth served up the meat and sat down; her father said grace and the meal began. The food, to Beth's relief, was met with great acclaim, and the two men seemed to be getting along much better than she had dared to hope. Talk turned to current events for a while. Mr. Parson had renounced almost every aspect of the wizarding world, but he seemed interested in what Richard reported. Beth noticed that he didn't mention anything about the rumors about the Dark Lord, or about Dumbledore's recent fall from favor. It was just as well. Mr. Parson had been hurt enough by the first war that he would be doubly worried at the promise of a second one.

They talked about the Triwizard Tournament (leaving out the awkward bits) and reminisced about the previous year (neglecting to mention the troubles of the Society). Beth had never realized to what extent her life was kept divided between home and school. She had never told her father about the Society - and how long had it been before she told anyone at school about the rest of her family? Until that summer it had never occurred to her that the two might mingle. And yet here they were, her father and Richard, chatting personably, connecting despite their many differences. Perhaps it would all go well after all-

There came a loud thump from the living room. Richard jerked upward, instantly alert, but Mr. Parson just let out a sigh and kept prodding his scalloped potatoes.

A cranky voice filtered in from the living room. "Watch the dismount, Porpentina, it's a rough one!"

There was another thump, and a soft exclamation. "My! That _was_ a bit rough, wasn't it? Looked like soot buildup to me, we'll have to warn Bill, can't have the Floo clogged like that! Remember when ours was all crusted over, must have been sixty years ago, remember that, Newt, and poor Mr. Ogden got caught halfway-"

The voices got progressively closer; soon, an elderly couple emerged into the kitchen, patting soot from their robes. The old woman swooped down on Mr. Parson and gave him a peck on his wrinkled cheek.

"Hullo, Bill..."

"Hello, Porpentina," said Mr. Parson fondly.

"Hi, Mrs. Scamander," said Beth.

Mr. Scamander was looking over the table and rubbing his hands together. "My my, pork roast, eh? Good timing we've got..." He caught sight of Richard and his eyes narrowed, shifting between Richard and Beth suspiciously. "Who's that?"

"This is Richard Shaw," said Beth, and Richard stood up extending his hand. "Rich, this is Mr. and Mrs. Scamander. They live down the road."

"Huh," said Mr. Scamander, shaking Richard's hand dubiously.

"Oh, Newt Scamander?" said Richard pleasantly. "We used your textbook. It helped me through my O.W.L.s."

"Did it now?" Mr. Scamander's handshake took on a distinct vigor. "Glad to hear that, quite glad. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shaw. Did you hear that, Porpentina?" he called across the table to his wife, who had conjured a chair and settled herself beside Mr. Parson. "Boy likes my book!"

"That's lovely, dear," said Mrs. Scamander blandly. "Do take a seat."

Mr. Scamander conjured a chair for himself and sat down across from his wife, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "So," he said to Richard, helping himself to the scalloped potatoes, "that would be the forty-ninth edition you've got, won't it? What did you think of that section on Hairy MacBoons? I took it out for the next edition but wrote it back in again for the fifty-second ... popular demand, you see ... iced tea, please," he said to Beth.

It was unbelievable how quickly the two were able to thoroughly overtake the conversation. In no time at all, Mr. Scamander was describing to Mr. Parson the great hassles of writing his new edition of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ (in between heartily tucking into the meal), and Mrs. Scamander was chattering to Richard about inconveniences around the house.

"...and Milly's got chizpurfles - our Kneazle," she explained to Richard, who nodded. "Nasty things, the poor dear's been itching up a storm, she's nearly scratched the furniture to bits, hasn't she, Newt?"

Mr. Scamander grumbled through a mouthful of pork roast; it might have been an affirmation, but then, one never knew.

"We've three of them," Mrs. Scamander prattled on, "Kneazles I mean. And there's the hippogriff in the backyard, and the porlock - although really he's not ours, he just lives in the barn and looks after the horses - Newt's been trying to capture an Ashwinder for over a year now. Nearly burnt down the living room ... do you keep animals, dear?"

She changed course so abruptly that Richard hesitated before answering. "Oh - just my owl. Nero."

"Good name," Mr. Scamander declared. "Stout. We had a chicken once named Nero, didn't we, Porpentina?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Scamander chuckled. "Old Nero. Gimpy," she said, and mimed a flapping wing with one arm.

"Old Nero," Mr. Scamander sighed nostalgically. "He made a bloody fine soup."

"No, I believe we fried him, dear."

"Was that him? I thought it was Brutus."

"Oh yes, well we fried him too. You know, if I recall rightly the both of them were actually hens."

"You're right. Old Nero. She was really something."

Beth laid her head on the table and covered it with both hands.

-'-'-

Two hours later, after a dessert of peach pie and a lifetime's worth of stories from Mr. Scamander, Richard announced regretfully that he was expected home soon. Beth followed him out to the front porch. She handed him his broomstick but he set it aside and, instead, took both her hands in his.

"Thanks for having me," he said, lacing his fingers among hers. "It was ... quite interesting."

She looked him up and down. "I think you survived."

"Next week's your turn," Richard murmured.

"Have you got mad old writers living next door?" Beth murmured back.

"I wish I did." He sounded like he meant it. "There aren't any neighbors, not for miles. And the house is enchanted so even if there were, they wouldn't know it was there." For a moment he looked wistful. Then he smiled. "You'll see for yourself."

"You're making me nervous," said Beth, with a little laugh. She felt the tips of her ears grow hot as she became suddenly, keenly aware of how close he was standing.

Richard broke into a grin. "Am I?" he said innocently, leaning closer yet. "Maybe I should put you at ease..."

-'-'-

Beth slipped back inside a few minutes later, her cheeks glowing.

Her father greeted her with a knowing smile. "I didn't say anything embarrassing, did I?"

"No, _you_ didn't," Beth said wryly. Somehow, she just couldn't keep herself from grinning. "In fact, I think it went pretty well."

"I say, Bethy," came a cranky voice, as Mr. Scamander shuffled up to them, "have you any more of that pie?"

-'-'-

The Shaws, according to Richard, lived quite far North, nearly to Scotland. Beth took the Floo network to a wizards' pub in the area, then caught the bus to the local public garden where they had agreed to meet.

It was a hot and humid Saturday; apart from a few florid businessmen and a handful of veiled women giggling by the lake, Beth was the only one she could see in long sleeves. As she sat on a park bench waiting for Richard to turn up, she pulled back her sleeve to hazard a glance at her left inner arm. The skin where she had been burnt the previous January had healed into new skin, mottled white and pink. It wasn't pretty up close, but it wouldn't cause anyone to look twice. What she had spent the summer covering up - and now, in the August sun, was suffering for - shone bold against the pale skin: the red skull of the Dark Lord.

Gravel crunched as someone approached, and Beth hastily yanked her sleeve back down. Wizard or muggle, the tattoo of a skull is nothing to just flash around.

"Waiting long?"

Richard stood there beaming, hands clasped behind his back. Beth stood up grinning.

"Not long."

Richard indicated an asphalt path leading from the bench through the green and into an empty, wooded part of the park. "It's this way. My parents are expecting us soon."

They started down the path. The sun was finally beginning to sink in the sky; a pleasant breeze sprung up from somewhere and sent dry grass skating around their feet. Beth, enjoying herself, was all in favor of continuing to walk in silence, but Richard soon spoke up.

"I suppose I ought to have warned you," he said, and Beth detected that he was intentionally making his voice casual. "My parents are ... fairly well off. Now, I don't want you to be intimidated or anything, they're both fine people, quite ordinary, but, er, the house can be a bit ... overwhelming"

"I've stayed at Melissa's house," Beth said, wondering what he meant by "overwhelming."

Richard looked relieved. "Then you'll be right at home."

"You know," said Beth, as something occurred to her, "you never mentioned what they do for a living."

"Hadn't I?" Richard looked surprised. "They're jewelers. Well - in the jewel trade, anyway. Our people liaise with the dwarves and the goblins for gems. Father spends a lot of time at Gringotts. Then there are the magical ones, for amulets and so forth. Those are internationally acquired and distributed." Richard broke off suddenly, with a bashful grin. "But you don't want to hear about all that."

"I don't mind," said Beth truthfully. "I've got to decide on a career this year, you know, and really I don't even know what wizards do after leaving school."

"I'm not sure hearing about the business is going to help," said Richard, with a half-shrug. Beth noticed how the phrase "the business" just slipped off his tongue. "Not much work for potions brewers. Maybe a polishing or grinding solution."

"Alchemists," Beth corrected. "It sounds more impressive."

"Here we are," said Richard.

They had reached a far corner of the park. Before them stretched a heavily wooded hill, ringed with a crumbling waist-high stone wall. Richard glanced about to be sure no one was near; then he took out his wand and tapped a quadrant of broken bricks, each in turn.

The bricks shimmered and fell still again. Nothing had changed. Beth cocked an eyebrow at Richard, who (unsurprisingly) was grinning. "You first," he said, gesturing to the area he had tapped. "I'll follow. Just between those two, that's it."

Hesitantly, her hands held out at the ready in front of her, Beth started towards the wall. Her hands slid through it. It was as if the bricks had vanished, leaving their image imprinted on the air. She took a few steps forward and found her lower half enveloped in imaginary brick. _We could have just climbed over this,_ Beth found herself thinking. _We're just going into the forest..._

Beth stepped free of the wall and let out a gasp.

The wooded hill had vanished. In its place, a vast, lush garden spread across the terrain, filled with fountains, topiary and long reflecting pools. The grass was blindingly green. At the center of it all loomed a white marble building, with columns and balconies, bas-reliefs and gilded accents. Beth felt as if she had accidentally stepped into the royal gardens, and was expecting to be accosted by Beefeaters any minute.

There was a faint sound of chimes behind her and Richard stepped up behind her. "Like it?" said Richard. He sounded rather shy.

"It's-" Beth couldn't quite find the words. "_Enormous,_" she finished at last.

"Not so much," said Richard awkwardly. "I did warn you."

"Overwhelming doesn't cover it!" In truth, the sight of the house - and the sudden new impression of the parents who lived in it - became to Beth extremely, unexpectedly frightening.

Richard put a hand on her shoulder. "You'll be fine," he said, as if he suspected what she was thinking.

"Rich, my dad's a retired farmer with an RAF pension! I don't know how to deal with-" She gestured towards the house. "-_that._"

"Just be natural," said Richard, as if it was going to be easy.

_Little chance of that,_ Beth thought. Still, she took a deep breath. "Natural. Right." She forced herself to relax; her shoulders had somehow tightened. "Let's go."

Richard beamed and took her arm.

The walkway to the mansion was cobbled, with elaborate designs that somehow fitted together perfectly. Beth steeled her resolve as they passed between statues, flowering trees and enchanted fountains that jetted overhead like soldiers presenting arms. _Dad would do the same thing with his garden, if he had the time,_ she thought, and that calmed her down.

The marble stairs at the front of the house apparently didn't lead to the front door; Richard bypassed them and led Beth around the side of the house. He went to a niche in the wall that held a white statue of Pallas. Gesturing for her to come in close, he put one arm around her shoulders and lifted the statue with the other. The half-circle pattern of bricks beneath them shifted; then, with a sudden and exhilarating smoothness, the wall swung out and they were carried inside.

The inside of the mansion was as bright as the August daylight, but pleasantly cool. Richard put down the statue and led Beth off of the half-circle platform, which rotated again to resume its place outside.

Beth took a good look around. They had been deposited at the end of a very wide hallway. The walls gleamed; vases of exotic flowers and bright, cheerful tapestries lined the walls, while an ivy-green carpet trolled down the middle of the floor. It was impossible to tell where the light came from, but the hall was sunny and well-lit.

"They'll be in the left-hand sitting room," said Richard. Beth thought he sounded a little nervous despite his assurances. He took a deep breath. "Well. Let's not keep them waiting."

He led her to an arched doorway and entered.

It was like a scene taken from a Victorian-era painting: a slight, middle-aged woman sat in a high-backed chair, head bent gracefully over a book, while her husband stood behind her, surveying the mantelpiece. They both looked up at Richard's greeting. The woman smiled; the man raised his chin, almost in invitation.

Richard approached with Beth close behind. "Mother. Father." He made a short bow to each; an odd motion, Beth thought, but it looked perfectly natural. "This is Elizabeth Parson. Beth, my parents."

The man was square-jawed and regal, with streaks of gray in his dark brown hair. A hawkish intensity lit his eyes, similar to Richard's but somehow more dangerous. Beth knew perfectly well that she was being scrutinized. It made her feel defiant.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said firmly, matching his grip as they shook hands.

"The pleasure is all ours, of course," said Mr. Shaw. "Genevieve and I have been hoping to meet you for some time now."

Richard's mother spoke up for the first time. "We've heard a great deal about you in the past few years," she said warmly. Surrounded by the vast winged armchair, her small figure was nearly overwhelmed. "Richard tells us you're quite the potions expert."

"Oh-" Beth glanced at Richard and flushed brightly. "I like the class. But there's so much more to learn..."

"There always is," said Mr. Shaw heartily, "for some more than others. Isn't that right, Richard?"

Richard's smile became somewhat fixed. "You're right, of course," he said politely. "Shall I show her around before dinner?"

"Certainly, certainly," Mr. Shaw boomed. "We'll send the house elf along when it's ready." He fixed Richard with a meaningful look. "Mind that you remember your upbringing."

"I've never forgotten it," said Richard, now with a distinct hint of coolness. He took Beth's arm firmly and steered her out into the lush, carpeted hallway.

"What was that about?" said Beth, when she felt they were a safe distance away.

Richard let out some air between his teeth. "My N.E.W.T.s weren't what my father thought they ought to be," he admitted, "and you know, my O.W.L.s were, well, disappointing ... it's all I've been hearing since leaving Hogwarts."

"You had bigger things to worry about," Beth reminded him. "The Chamber of Secrets ... and then Cedric Diggory."

Richard gritted his teeth and Beth immediately regretted her words. They had spent the majority of the previous year trying to keep Cedric Diggory from suffering payment for the Transcongus Brew, and they had failed anyway.

"Tell me about your castle," she said quickly. Richard glanced over at her, and she corrected herself awkwardly. "I - I mean your house."

Richard took a deep breath. "Well, there are five stories, usually; it shifts a bit with the weather. We're on the first. There are two levels of cellar, one for food and the other for prisoners - we haven't used it in centuries," he added hastily, at Beth's alarmed look, "as far as I know anyway. I live upstairs on the third floor. Let's take the stairs; it's more scenic."

The hallway burst with portraits, busts and paintings, most of them with moving subjects. Beth recognized Richard's straight nose and intense eyes in more than one of them. Near the end of the hall, Richard paused before a vast oil painting, easily as large as a bedsheet. "This one's interesting."

The scene was totally motionless. Near the right edge of the frame stood a wild-faced woman with bloodstained robes, holding the severed head of a blonde youth victoriously by the hair. The corpse lay at her feet.

Beth recoiled. "That's _interesting?_"

"It changes daily," said Richard, looking imperturbably at the murderess's crazed features. "Just a tiny bit. Six hundred years ago she came in from that side-" He pointed to the left edge of the canvas. "-and started sneaking up on him. The murder took a hundred years from the day her knife touched his throat to the moment his body began to fall away. She's been lifting his head since I was born. It used to be down here." He touched a spot about an inch below the end of the dripping neck.

Richard was calm - suspiciously detached, almost - but Beth felt cold. "What happens next?" she said, crossing her arms tightly.

"We don't know," said Richard lightly. "I doubt I'll live to see it." He glanced over at her and tugged on her elbow. "Come on, the staircase is over here."

Beth looked back over her shoulder at the painting as they left. The grisly scene did not change.

A curving staircase had been built into the end of the hall; Richard got on the first step and it began to wind upward, carrying him along like an escalator. Beth followed, gazing around at the walls. These were lined with more personal art: photographs of the Shaws, always in formal wear, usually with someone who looked very impressive or vaguely familiar, sometimes both. Beth caught a glimpse of Cornelius Fudge in one of them. Another, near the top of the stairs, was extremely familiar.

"Isn't that you and Gypsy at the Yule Ball?" she said, peering closely as the staircase carried them past.

Richard glanced back at it. "Yes, we had an underclassman take it. Mother was really keen to see how we looked. Watch your step," he said, as the staircase ground to a halt. He helped her up the last few stairs. "This is the third floor."

This level of the Shaw mansion looked like an extremely expensive hotel. Closed doors lined the hallway on both sides, broken up by an occasional watercolor still life. "We're in the East Wing," Richard told her, indicating the doors. "Guest rooms. I'm down this way..."

He led her through the hallway until they reached the very end, where a carved wooden door stood firmly closed. Richard tapped the doorknob with his wand and pulled it open.

"These are my quarters."

Beth's jaw dropped. The room was vast, with towering gilded ceilings and long windows hung in thick magenta curtains. A set of elegant low-backed chairs surrounded a gleaming cherry coffee table; another group of large winged armchairs clustered near an elaborate fireplace, crackling with heat. Crystal chandeliers tinkled above them.

"This is the sitting room," Richard was saying, gesturing toward the fireplace. He tugged her into an adjoined room. "The drawing room-" This one was outfitted with a sloped writing desk and a well-cushioned window seat. "The bath's over there, you don't want to see that-" Through the cracked door Beth caught a glimpse of gleaming golden faucets. "Bedroom and changing area, back here."

Beth found her voice. "This is _amazing._"

"Yeah, well, it's home," said Richard. He strode across the bedroom and threw himself onto a massive four-poster with gold and magenta curtains.

Almost afraid to touch anything, Beth sat down slowly beside him. He had lived with this kind of opulence his whole life, she realized. If even all this splendor couldn't impress him... She suddenly felt extremely shabby. "I wish I hadn't invited you to my house," she said, making it a joke but meaning it.

Richard propped himself up on one elbow. "Don't be silly, I loved your house. It looks used. I mean, look at this place-" He gestured around at the hardwood and trappings. "I didn't even have a say in what color they used. And it's so ... _clean_..." He made a face. "Mother's been up here probably twice; Father, only when I'm in trouble. That leaves me and Wobbly."

At first Beth wasn't sure she'd heard him properly. "Wobbly?"

An eager scrabbling noise came from the sitting room and pattered up to the bedroom. A young-looking house elf dressed neatly in a pillowcase came skittering into the bedroom, smacked his head on the doorframe, and sat back hard on the floor, blinking in a bewildered manner. Beth clapped a hand to her mouth, but Richard threw back his head and laughed.

"Are you all right?" Beth gasped, shooting a very dirty look at Richard.

The house-elf got unsteadily to his feet and gave her a wide smile. "Oh yes, miss. Mother always said, very hard head, Wobbly has." He knocked the side of his skull a few times to prove it. "Wobbly is always falling over things and running into things and falling off of things..."

Richard sniggered out of his hysterics and gestured to Wobbly, who tottered forward. "Come on, let me have a look at you..." He checked the house-elf's forehead carefully. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Oh yes, young master, Wobbly hardly feels it."

"Well." Richard let lose a few more short laughs. "Good thing, then, seeing it happens so often."

The house-elf bowed. "Young master called for his Wobbly, sir?"

"No, we were just talking about you," said Richard. "Wobbly is fantastic," he said affectionately, to Beth. "So loyal." He reached out scrubbed his knuckles against the bare skin between his big ears.

Beth raised an eyebrow. "You named your house-elf 'Wobbly'?"

Just then the elf teetered to one side and collapsed.

"I was a little kid," said Richard, helping the elf back to his feet. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

The house-elf beamed up at them both. "Wobbly will serve young Master as long as he lives, sir," he avowed eagerly. "And longer, sir."

"And we'll put your name on the Elves of Honor shield, underneath your father, your mother and your great-grandmum," Richard replied cheerfully. Beth could tell that the two had gone through the exchange innumerable times. "What time's dinner?"

"Mally and Norry are telling Wobbly it will be at seven o'clock, sir."

Richard glanced at the intricate grandfather clock in one corner. "Good, then we've got ten minutes alone." He cast a meaningful glance at the house elf. Wobbly gave a start, then began nodding furiously.

"Young master will call if he needs his Wobbly, sir," he said hopefully.

"Absolutely," said Richard fondly. "Now get gone and help the kitchen elves."

Wobbly bowed low to the ground. "Of course, sir." He skittered away. Beth heard him patter into the hallway; there was a loud _thump,_ then the sound of the sitting room door closing.

Things were very quiet for a few moments. Then Richard turned to face her, his mouth cocked in a grin. "Well. This is nice."

Beth ran a pink flush. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really," said Richard, a devilish smile growing on his face. "Here I am with a gorgeous blonde American in my bedroom. Some men have to fantasize about that sort of thing."

Without warning he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her forward until their noses were nearly touching. Beth wanted to laugh at the sparkle in Richard's eyes. A thrill ran down her spine. "Aren't you supposed to remember your upbringing?" she teased.

"I can do that later," said Richard, with a wolf's grin. He cupped a hand around the back of her neck and kissed her soundly on the lips.

They broke off softly. Richard drew her tight to his chest. Beth closed her eyes and took in the warmth of his neck on her forehead, the feel of his pulse, the strange familiar scent of his hair. They sat there for many minutes. Finally, Richard spoke.

"I ... I've heard from Nott again."

Beth's face fell. She pulled away and took both of his hands. "What did he say?"

"Just that I've only got two more weeks to get the Ledger to the Dark Lord." Richard frowned, looked away. "As if I needed reminding."

Beth stared down at their joined hands. "I hate that you have it," she said quietly. "It's so dangerous."

"Don't worry," said Richard, mustering his confidence for her sake. He leaned over and pecked her cheek. "We'll think of something."

"I'll do whatever you need me to do," Beth said. "But, Rich, if it comes down to it..."

Richard interrupted her firmly. "He's not getting the Ledger."

"That's not what I was going to say," said Beth sadly.

Wobbly the house-elf burst into the bedroom. "Sir! Miss! Dinner is serving in the second dining room!"

"Come on," said Richard, helping her to her feet with a grin. "Dinner is serving - we don't want to miss that! And don't worry," he murmured again on the way out the door. "Everything is going to be fine."


	3. The Daily Prophet

**Chapter Three: The Daily Prophet**

** HEIR TO JEWEL FORTUNE DIES**

Richard Shaw, 18, was found dead in his home on the   
evening of Friday, August 16. His death has been ruled   
as accidental. 

He was the only child of Oberon Shaw, owner of the   
prestigious Shaw's Jewelers, and stood to inherit the family   
fortune, estimated at twenty-four million Galleons. 

Surviving are his parents, a maternal great-grandfather, and   
five cousins (now residing in Italy). 

Shaw was a recent graduate of Hogwarts Academy, where   
he served as prefect of Slytherin house in his sixth and   
seventh years. 

The funeral will be private. 


	4. Grave Circumstances

**Chapter Four: Grave Circumstances**

The funeral was held in the Shaw mansion. Beth cried on her father's shoulder throughout the service. She didn't mean to, but big tears kept welling up and rolling down her cheeks unchecked. She couldn't stand to look at Richard, still and cold in an open coffin, but she did see through her tears that his wand had been laid in the hands folded across his chest. 

As the guests filed past the coffin before it was Banished away to the family crypt, Beth reached out and took his waxy hand. When she released it, she held his Society ring. 

The Shaws, despite their grief, had somehow arranged a reception for the funeral goers downstairs in their grand ballroom. The vaulted walls were hung with black silk, the mirrors had all been covered. Long tables stretched from one end of the room to the other; guests sat in clusters, speaking quietly to one another. The chandeliers which had once been dazzling now gave off a more sedate light. 

Beth faltered at the entrance. The black cloth looked like graveclothes; the whole room might have been a coffin, a tomb. She felt tears welling up again. "I - I'll be back," she told her father. As the first one drizzled down her cheek, she turned and fled into the powder room. 

It was not empty. A gaggle of middle-aged witches, dabbing at their eye makeup and gossiping in low tones, thronged the mirrors, all dressed in black like a flock of frowzy crows. Beth skimmed past them into a toilet stall, where she bolted the door and fought to hold back her tears. This was no time to lose control. 

"...laying on the floor by his bed. House elf found him..." 

"Thank God. Think if it had been a parent..." 

The witches at the bureau all suddenly lowered their voices. Beth sniffed resolutely and dried her eyes. She leaned against the wall of the stall. 

"...don't care what the Prophet said, that boy's death was _no accident._" 

The speaker's friend shushed her hastily. "I won't have you spreading rumors, Tess, not when poor Oberon and Genevieve are still grieving-" 

"And such a _silly_ rumor too!" added another friend, with a little frightened titter. 

"It is not a rumor!" the first voice snapped. "I saw it personally while walking in the park. There was a Dark Mark over the Shaw house." 

Beth's blood ran cold. She pressed herself closer to the wall. 

"You said it didn't linger," whispered one friend derisively. "It was a reflection, of course - or someone sending up sparks..." 

"I saw what I saw," said Tess resolutely. "And if dear Oberon hadn't insisted that the death be reported as an accident, I'd go to the Prophet. They know there were Death Eaters at the World Cup last year, _you_ saw it there too, Marie-" 

"Enough of this. We must be supportive of the Shaws now, it's all we can do - and we must _not_ compound their grief by letting idle gossip slide into the wrong hands!" 

There was a rustle of cloaks, and the door opening and closing. Beth waited for several seconds; then she slipped out of the powder room and crept upstairs. 

She paused outside of Richard's bedroom, glancing up and down the lonely hallway. She cracked the door to make sure the room was empty; then she slid inside and closed the door behind her. 

Richard's bedroom was almost exactly the way he had left it. Beth crossed the room quickly and opened the third bureau drawer from the bottom. In a back corner, beneath a pile of meticulously folded dress robes, lay a folded parchment and a small package wrapped in a white handkerchief. Beth took both and put them in her pocket. She opened the drawer above that. A bit of rummaging yielded a small glass vial with just a drop of yellowish liquid sliding around inside. She sniffed it and put it in her other pocket. Carefully rearranging the clothes, she left the bedroom and quietly made her way back downstairs. 

The ballroom now hummed with muted conversation. The drinks and hors d'ouvres were still there, but Beth didn't feel like she could eat anything, so she passed them by. She spotted her father sitting by Melissa with her parents across the room, and started towards them. 

"Elizabeth." 

Beth turned around. There stood Mrs. Shaw, meticulously dressed as always, looking strained but no less dignified. Beth suddenly felt a swell of pity for this woman who had lost her only child. "Mrs. Shaw - I'm sorry..." 

Mrs. Shaw did not look like she wanted to be hugged, so Beth kept her distance. "So am I," she said, formal voice wavering for just a moment. She cleared her throat. "My son ... was very close to you." 

Beth felt like crying again and felt very stupid for it. 

Mrs. Shaw held a crumpled black handkerchief in one hand; with the other, she reached into a pocket and brought out a small black box. She leaned forward to press it into Beth's hand. 

"I'm certain he would have wanted you to have this. Do open it." 

The box contained a silver ring, set magnificently with a single opal as smooth and black as a nighttime pond. 

"Oh," said Beth, "I can't accept-" 

Mrs. Shaw gently pushed Beth's fingers closed around the box. "Please do," she said. "He had intended to - to someday give it to special girl..." Her hand clenched the handkerchief tightly for just a second. Then she seemed to regain control; she looked up at Beth with a wan smile. "Oberon and I are so pleased to have met you." 

"I'm glad to have known Richard." Beth's throat felt thick. "And ... you." 

They both stood silently, face-to-face, staring at the floor. Then, without another word, without meeting each others' eyes, they turned and withdrew to their individual grief. 

Beth tried not to look at the people she passed. Some knew who she had been to Richard, and that was bad; some didn't, and wondered what a shaggy-haired girl with a Muggle father was doing at such a high-class funeral, and that was worse. She walked as quickly as she could get away with and slid into a chair beside her father, across from Melissa and her parents. 

"Hullo, Beth," said Mrs. Ollivander brightly, looking somewhat strained. "We were just having a chat with your father. He's been telling us all about your final Alchemy project. Top marks, wasn't it? Well done!" 

"Drink this, Bethy," said her father gently, and pushed a glass of punch toward her. 

"I've had a letter from Bruce," Melissa told her. Her voice held the same nervous liveliness as her mother's. "He's spent all summer giving lessons at the local Quidditch pitch. They're letting him referee some of the amateur games..." She laughed. It was not a cheerful sound. "But of course we'll hear all about that on the train to school." 

"Not long until the start of term," Mr. Ollivander boomed, settling back in his seat. "Exciting, isn't it? The last one." He leaned across the table, and gave Mr. Parson a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Our girls are growing up." 

"Da..." Melissa protested, reddening. 

Beth sighed and took a drink of punch. 

-'-'-

The sun had set by the time Beth and her father left the Shaw mansion by Floo network. One by one they stepped out of their own fireplace into the living room, flicking soot from their clothes. 

Beth had never felt so utterly drained. Hardly feeling her feet on the ground, she moved mutely through the house and started up to her bedroom. She was halfway up the stairs when a soft voice halted her. 

"Bethy." 

Beth turned back. Her father stood at the foot of the stairs. He raised his eyes to her. 

"I remember when I lost your mother," he said, his slow, soft voice clear in the silent stairwell. "It was as if someone'd taken my life away." 

She had never heard him speak about her mother's imprisonment. Slowly, she sat down on a stair. 

"But I had you to care for," he went on, lowering his eyes. "And there were new friends and new chances in America." He didn't look like he wanted to go on talking; her father was not given to long speeches. Still, he took a breath and said one more thing. "I promise. You'll be happy again." 

Beth fled downstairs and crushed him in a hug. 

-'-'-

_But Dad doesn't know what I'm up against,_ Beth thought, on her way back upstairs. _You don't just tell the Dark Lord you're quitting his army. I may be happy again someday, but it's going to be a long time._

She shut the bedroom door carefully behind her. Going to her dresser, she rummaged around in her jewelry box until she found a slim silver chain. She slid Richard's Society ring onto the chain, then added the opal ring that his mother had given her. She fastened it around her neck. The two rings chimed dully against one another; strange, since most people would only see one of them. 

Beth turned and crossed the room. Closing the window and shutting the curtains tight, she finally took out the packet that she had retrieved in Richard's bedroom. 

Carefully, she unwrapped the handkerchief. The Ledger, shrunk to the size of her palm, lay in the center of the cloth. She checked it over for damage, then wrapped it again and stuck it in her sock drawer. There wasn't a lock on it, but Beth had the feeling that if someone managed to trace the Ledger to her house, a lock wouldn't help much anyway. 

She took out the empty vial, sniffed it again, and threw it in the trash. No one would think to look for it here, and it mustn't be found: everybody knew what you got if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood. 


	5. An Unexpected Meeting

**Chapter Five: An Unexpected Meeting**

A half-full moon shaded the silent Parson household.

Beth's father had gone to bed an hour or so before, but Beth lay awake, sprawled across her bed, flipping through the Ledger. Its vast musty pages spat clouds of dust onto her sheets; open, it was nearly as large as her pillow. The book had only been in service for fifty years, but it held information far more ancient than itself.

For the first time, Beth realized why Richard had been so upset about the loss of the Ledger the previous year, and why the Dark Lord was so desperate to have it back. It was thick with information - there were maps of the Ministry and the Forbidden Forest, lists of people and places, spells that ranged from complex to dire. In the hands of the enemy, it really could do a great deal of damage.

She thumbed through the book, stopping at a battered page near the back.

_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son  
Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master  
Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe_

Beth's blood ran cold at the dark words. So Riddle had planned for his ascension years in advance ... it didn't surprise her, somehow. She wondered if he had killed his own father so that the bones would be there when he needed them.

A sharp rap sounded against her window.

Beth froze. Ever so slowly, she moved across the bedroom, shut the door, and flicked off the light switch. Bathed in darkness, she crept to the window and waited.

The rap came again.

Silently, she unhooked the window latch and stood back from it, pressed against the wall. The window creaked open - it could have been the summer wind, the gentle brush of a passing bat.

A set of pale fingers curled themselves around the window sill.

"It's all right," said Beth quietly.

A dark figure heaved into view. It filled the window and then dropped inside, one hand clutching a broomstick. The moonlight fell across his face.

"What light through yonder window breaks?" Richard whispered.

He was grinning from ear to ear as he propped the broomstick against the wall. Beth closed the window behind him.

"It is the east." He straightened beside the window and looked fondly at her across the dark room. "And Juliet is the sun."

"Technically," said Beth, "if we're going by the book, _you're_ Juliet."

"Whatever," said Richard. He wrapped his arms around her.

Several minutes later, Beth sat on her bed rewrapping the Ledger and Richard was at the desk, munching a sandwich that Beth had retrieved from the kitchen. He glanced through the past few issues of the Daily Prophet by wandlight before folding them up and putting them aside. "Not much news, is there?"

"Nothing useful," said Beth. "Even your obituary was short."

"Was it?" Richard perked up. "What day was it?"

He flipped to the death notices and scanned his own quickly. He made a face. "They _would_ have to mention the inheritance," he said distastefully. "Well, I think it's bland enough to throw anyone off the track... Was the funeral all right?"

"Very tasteful," Beth assured him, rolling her eyes.

"And no one thought it was suspicious?"

"No. You looked very dead." Beth shuddered involuntarily at the memory. "That's how the Draught of the Living Death works. Sending up the Dark Mark was a nice touch," she added.

"Think so?" said Richard, munching his sandwich. "I thought it couldn't hurt; add a bit more confusion to it all, maybe even convince someone the Dark Lord's back and it's not some hallucination of Potter's. Nott was all too willing to teach me how."

The name of the Secretary reminded Beth how dangerous the game had become. "Rich - is everything set up? Do you have someplace to go?"

Richard glanced up at her with a grin. "You sound like you don't want me to stay."

"I don't think my father would like the idea of a boy in my room," said Beth, "especially a dead one. You _do_ have a place, don't you?" she pressed.

"I told you, I've arranged things in advance," said Richard, now sounding a little insulted. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. One was small and brass and looked perfectly ordinary; the other was much bigger, and perfectly straight at the end. It looked like a large, elaborate iron lollipop.

Beth reached out to take a closer look. "This is a key?" she asked, running her finger along the smooth iron.

"It opens the front door to my lodging house," said Richard. "The other is to the apartment."

"Number thirty-three," Beth read, looking at the engraving of the smaller key. "How do I get there?"

"You can't, unless I take you," said Richard, taking back his keys. "You couldn't even find it. It's very safe but it costs a pretty Knut. Let's just say I've more or less blown my inheritance."

Beth started to speak, then bit her lip. He had blown his inheritance anyway - as long as his parents thought he was dead, he was completely detached from his family and everything from his past. Even in the shadows, Richard seemed to read her face.

"I can always go back, you know," he said quietly. "When it's over. When it's safe. It may be hard for a few years ... I think they'll understand," he added, almost to himself, "in the long run."

He may or may not have been correct; but just then, "the long run" seemed very far away indeed.

-'-'-

Richard left soon afterward, after consuming several more sandwiches and assembling another few for the trip to London. (Beth couldn't blame him - he hadn't eaten for several days, after all - but she sincerely hoped her father wouldn't notice the disappearance of half a loaf of bread.) "I'll be contacting the members one by one," he muttered, stuffing sandwiches into his knapsack. "So don't tell anyone until I get to them. All right?"

"I'm not _that_ stupid, Rich," she muttered back.

"Of course not. Quite the opposite." He accepted the wrapped Ledger and stuck it in his knapsack beside the sandwiches. "You did good."

"Take care of the Ledger."

"Take care of yourself," said Richard. His eyes grew sad and serious for just a moment. Setting aside his knapsack, he gently took hold of her arm and pushed back the sleeve to reveal the red skull burnt into her skin.

They both gazed at the emblem for long moments. In the darkness it seemed to twist and float, mocking, powerful...

"After I free the Society," said Richard softly, "I'll free you of this."

Their eyes met. Then Richard dropped a kiss on her forehead, picked up his knapsack and broom, and slipped out the window.

Beth watched until his dark shape disappeared into the clouds. She retreated into the bedroom and shut the window. Sighing, she rolled her sleeve back down so that she wouldn't have to look at the mark. Richard was smart, he was ambitious and driven, but there were some things that couldn't be undone. She expected that the skull was there to stay, and dared not hope that she was wrong.

-'-'-

Beth woke up in the middle of the night to a burning pain in her arm.

Her first thought, as she came groggily awake, was that she had dreamed the pain and it wasn't real. But it didn't go away - it was like a bee sting, like a brand-

The realization swept over her in a cold wave.

The Dark Lord was calling.

Beth fell out of bed, got caught in the covers, and struggled free. She grabbed her wand, tugged her tennis shoes over her bare feet, and threw on her school cloak overtop her pajamas. Taking a few deep breaths to clear her head, and praying she wouldn't splinch in her haste, she gathered her thoughts and Apparated to the Little Hangleton churchyard.

Moments later, her feet settled in spongy ground. She opened her eyes to find herself near the yew tree; several feet from where she had been aiming, but good enough to pass. Several wizards had already appeared; the occasional crack signaling Apparation broke the air as more arrived. Everything was oddly quiet. No birds, she thought, surprised to have noticed. And no one was speaking...

Someone came up behind her and tapped her shoulder.

Beth leapt a foot in the air and spun around. She recognized the small dark frame instantly.

"_Evan!_"

"Evening," said Evan Wilkes placidly.

"Do that again and I will literally kill you," said Beth, but in truth she was glad to see him. He was the only other person, as far as she knew, who had been committed to the Dark Lord in infancy. Although she had often questioned his motives, she was sure he wouldn't have chosen the Dark Mark for himself. Almost sure.

"How'd you get here so quick?"

"Floo to the village, flew to the cemetery." Evan looked her over. "You should have combed your hair."

"Shut up," said Beth. The night was colder than she expected. She wished she had stopped to put on socks.

"Here." Evan handed her a cloth mask, then tugged one over his own features. "Flip your cloak inside-out. I can see the school crest."

"Oh." Beth pulled off her cloak and turned it so the crest was hidden. She refastened it hurriedly. "Anything else?"

"Other than you're the only one here in trainers?" said Evan coolly, his features hidden behind the soft folds of his mask. Beth gritted her teeth. "No. You look just like all the rest of the murderous Dark wizards around these parts."

"Good," said Beth shortly. Over near Tom Riddle's cracked gravestone, the other Death Eaters were starting to arrange themselves into a circle. "Come on, we'd better go join the crowd."

The first time, the two of them had stood beside former Society president Jules Rothbard; now that he had been killed (and, Beth expected, devoured) by the snake Gina, Beth and Evan stood together with a very large figure on one side and a space on the other. About a quarter of the way around the circle, Beth noticed the familiar stooped figure of Ebenezer Nott. How many more would she recognize, she wondered suddenly, if the masks were removed?

A shadow fell amid the circle, and all motion ceased.

From behind a looming tombstone stepped the Dark Lord. Tall and cloaked, hooded and implacable, he glided to the center of the ring and began to stroll around the circle, hands clutched behind his back. His silence was ominous.

"I," said the Dark Lord, pacing languorously in the midst of them, "am not pleased."

A shiver ran through the ring of Death Eaters.

"Things have been happening without my approval. The Shaw boy, for instance, had access to something I want. A whisper has reached me that my mark was seen in the sky on the night of his death ... and yet I was not consulted."

He looked up, and his gaze was terrible.

"That was unwise."

The Dark Lord resumed pacing, and the Death Eaters at whom he had been staring relaxed into nervous tension.

"And Potter," said the Dark Lord. "Potter. They say that a pair of dementors was sent to his home - his Muggle home."

The Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably. Beside her, Evan raised his head ever so slightly. Beth guessed what had piqued his interest: Dementors, away from Azkaban and on a Muggle street, should have been the biggest news of the summer. And while there was no blatant surprise displayed, no comically theatric shouts, there was a definite air of uncertainty among the circle.

The Dark Lord's chilling voice snaked through the air. "I wonder who was responsible."

Beth felt an inexplicable pang of guilt. She was strangely sure that if the Dark Lord turned and looked her in the face, she would confess to it all on the spot.

"No confessions? It will far be worse then..."

The silence hung heavily for long moments.

"Very well." The Dark Lord raised his wand above his head and swept it in a circle. A blue streamer of light bled from the end, making a strange pale halo. "_Legilimens._"

The halo expanded and settled onto the heads of the Death Eaters.

The sensation was like a cold wind blowing from one end of Beth's brain to the other. Half-formed memories began to pop up in her mind, only to fall back down into the stores of her memory. There was a dementor on the train ... Melissa railing over gender discrimination ... piles of purple sleeping bags in the middle of the Great Hall ... her father, holding up a slug-chewed squash in disgust ... Aaron Pucey's finger splint ... Colin Creevey, peering into a cauldron ... Josef Poliakoff, leaning towards her...

Violently, she threw away that thought and immediately others took its place: a Blast-Ended Skrewt. A white feather with a message from her mother. Richard cold in his coffin. Professor Lockhart grinning like a fool. Uther Bole reclining in the Vase Room, tossing around a Quaffle. Professor Kettleburn...

Abruptly her mind stopped whirling. Beth got hold of her senses and realized that she had been staring, slack-jawed, for many minutes. All around her, dazed Death Eaters were blinking back to wakefulness. She glanced to the side. For one brief moment, she thought she saw Evan's thin shoulders quaking. Then the Dark Lord spoke again. He sounded displeased.

"So an outside actor chooses to attack Harry Potter. How foolish of them..."

Apparently he hadn't discovered the guilty party through his Legilimency. Beth felt a rush of relief. That meant she wouldn't have to watch anyone die tonight.

"You will find him for me." The Dark Lord seemed to be directing his words to a certain part of the circle; a few of the masked wizards nodded or bowed obediently. "The Dementors of Azkaban obey no one but the Ministry. Soon, of course, they will call me master, but for the moment ... you will find your answers in that hub of imbeciles."

Some of the Death Eaters dared laugh. A smile twisted on the face of their Lord: a foul thing, in a pale and thin-lipped face.

"Soon," he said again. In his voice was the whispered promise of a lover. "Very soon."

-'-'-

It wasn't long before Beth reappeared in her own front yard, slipped in silently, and crept upstairs to her bedroom.

She slid off her shoes and cloak, now damp with dew, and fell into bed, grateful that she was already wearing her pajamas. She was exhausted - part of it must have been the effort of Apparating, and the fact that it was three in the morning, but mostly she felt emotionally drained. The Dark Lord had the gift of making her feel strongly, whether fear or exhilaration ... when it wore off, it left her tired and empty.

She rolled onto her back and snuggled into the covers. Safe for another night. He hadn't questioned that Richard was dead ... that was good ... she felt herself slipping off. Her fingers curled around the ring that Mrs. Shaw had given her.

_He had intended to someday give it to a special girl._

I have to remember to give this back, Beth thought sleepily, pulling the covers tight around her shoulders. Now that he's not dead anymore...

That was her last coherent thought before it turned fluidly into dreams.

**- ... - ... - ... -**  
**A/n:** So apparently, not _everyone_ knows what you get when you mix asphodel and wormwood. (hugs Kellie) I'm sorry you went into mourning for longer than you had to! Now go read the first potions class in PS/SS again!  
p.s. I love you _all_.


	6. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter Six: The Hogwarts Express**

William Parson tapped his knuckles on the door to his daughter's bedroom.

"Breakfast in ten minutes, Bethy."

"All right."

Beth was already awake, and in fact, almost completely ready to leave forHogwarts that morning. Her books had been bought, her clothes packed, her wand installed safely in her pocket where she had kept it since her seventeenth birthday the previous February. She had only one more thing to do.

Tugging open the closet doors, she thrust her arm into the darkness and clicked her tongue a little. Soon enough, she felt a handful of pinpricks on her outstretched finger as a set of tiny claws dug into the skin. She withdrew her arm with the family bat, Mercator, clinging to her index finger. The small brown creature had carried messages to Azkaban for many years; her father had stopped the practice after a brush with the law, but Beth couldn't help sending occasional notes to Lycaeon, however brief.

Letting Mercator climb up her arm, she took a scrap of paper and scrawled:

_

Luke: Starting my seventh year. N.E.W.T.s in eight months. We both miss you.

_

Lycaeon had never had his N.E.W.T.s, she mused, tugging Mercator from her earlobe and fastening the paper to his leg. Chris, the oldest and an achiever in the mold of his mother, had managed ten. But it was only a few months later that the Ministry had caught them both in the service of the Dark Lord. For all his academic honors, Chris was now little more than a broken mind in a solitary cell.

Sighing, Beth carried Mercator to the open window. "Come find me at Hogwarts," she ordered him. "I'll need you this year."

With an obedient twitter, Mercator fluttered up from her hands and glided out the window, heading north ... north to the sea, the cold nights, and the island fortress of Azkaban.

-'-'-

Beth had every intention of going to King's Cross Station on her own, but her father insisted on coming along: "As it's the last time," he pointed out fondly. They took the Floo to the platform and moved to the side to say their goodbyes.

"There's Bruce," said Beth, glancing around the platform.

Mr. Parson smiled, and Beth - for the first time - recognized how sad his smile truly was. It had always been that way. How had she never noticed that, even in joy, her father could never shake away the sorrow he had seen in his life?

"Don't wait too long to write," said Mr. Parson.

Beth leaned over and wrapped him in a hug.

"I'll miss you," she said, suddenly dangerously close to tears.

"Have a good year, Bethy," said her father softly.

She had always felt safe in his arms. But the goodbye couldn't last forever. They parted fondly; Beth, turning once to wave, took up her trunk and started across the platform toward Bruce Bletchley.

A brown-skinned girl with an athletic build stood with him. It was the same girl, Beth realized, that he had taken to the Yule Ball: Kiesha Chambers, a Chaser on the Ravenclaw team. Bruce spotted her and Beth waved, dragging her trunk towards them.

Bruce, hands in his pockets, tipped his chin in greeting. "Hullo."

"Hi." Beth looked over at Kiesha. "Nice to see you again."

Kiesha returned her smile with a big grin. "How've you been?"

"Fine," said Beth, with only a twinge of conscience at the blatant lie. "How was your summer?"

"Hot, dry and horrible," said Kiesha, making a face. "The drought hit us bad. My parents' flower bed looked like the Sahara desert."

"My dad's garden was a wreck, too," Beth agreed. "Nothing did well except the zucchini."

"That's worse," Kiesha winked.

Just then a tiny girl, indubitably a first-year, bounded off of the train to join them. Beth assumed she was a friend of Kiesha's, but the little girl stopped beside Bruce and gazed up at him cheerfully.

"I've put my things in the baggage cab, Bruce, just beside yours, all right?"

"That's fine," said Bruce. "Someone else will unload them for us when we get there."

"Who?" she asked.

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know, house elves maybe." He glanced over at Beth. "Beth, you remember my little sister Sally?"

Beth had seen both his sister and his mother before, at Diagon Alley or King's Cross, but she had never met his father: Mr. Bletchley had died not long after Bruce started at Hogwarts. Sally wore her hair in two long braids; it was, Beth noticed, the exact same nondescript grayish-brown as Bruce's. "Hello, Sally," said Beth politely.

"She's starting at Hogwarts this year," Bruce added, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Wow." During their own first year, his sister had been five years old and little enough to be carried. Beth suddenly felt extremely old. "I mean, congratulations."

"Thank you, but it's not as if I've done anything, is it?" Bruce's sister said. She had a very confident, practical tone that seemed strange coming from such a young face. "Just turned eleven, that's all."

"Living with him, we're just impressed you made it that far," Kiesha said seriously.

"Right, eleven years, I don't know how you did it," Beth agreed. "It's six for me and I can't stand him."

The train whistle sounded overhead, and Bruce, running a faint blush, interrupted hastily. "We'd better get on board before we're left behind." He turned to his sister. "You could sit with us, if you like."

Sally gazed up at him, unperturbed. "I think I'll find a seat with someone my own age, thanks," she said. "See you at the Sorting, Bruce!"

She stood up on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. Then, without so much as a wave farewell, she turned and climbed onto the train.

Bruce watched her go with unconcealed amazement.

"I was _terrified_ to get on the train my first time," he said, more to himself than to the girls.

"What's she got to worry about?" Kiesha teased, taking hold of his arm. "If anyone gives her trouble, her big brother'll beat them up."

"And how," said Bruce fervently.

The train whistle sounded and the puffs of steam from the engine became more insistent. They climbed aboard; the shrill siren of the Hogwarts Express let out its cry once more, and the long mechanical snake began to wind its way North.

-'-'-

The Hogwarts Express was so familiar, so cozy and safe, that Beth found it hard to remember that there was even a Dark Lord out there - let alone one that practically owned her. She slipped into the conversation easily; she had only spent a few hours with Kiesha, at the Yule Ball the previous year, but she found the Ravenclaw very friendly and easy to talk to. Often Beth enjoyed just sitting back and listening to the two elaborate on their mutual favorite subject: Quidditch.

"I don't understand," said Bruce, for maybe the fourth time in an hour. "The Tornadoes have been absolute rubbish for at least twenty years, and here they go winning the league championship."

"New assistant coach," Kiesha reminded him. "And their second string is finally up to scratch - remember when they'd have an injury, and you just knew they were doomed for the season? This year, even after Ballycastle took out both Beaters they were able to come back. They would've never been able to do that last year."

"I'm not sure an assistant coach and a second string can win you a league championship," Bruce argued, but without heart. Slytherins talked that way, Beth thought. Answering questions with questions, playing devil's advocate. It kept the conversation rolling.

"Clearly, it has," said Kiesha mildly. "About time, too. Cho's going to be thrilled. Cho Chang," she explained, to Beth. "She's crazy about the Tornadoes. She's got posters all over the dormitory. _I_ favor the Harpies," she sighed, "but this wasn't the year, I guess..." She jerked her thumb at Bruce. "Of course Bletchley here had to rub it in every time he wrote me."

"Hang on," Beth interrupted, "he _wrote you_ over the summer?"

"Once a week," said Kiesha.

"Do you know how many times he ever wrote _me?_" Beth demanded.

"Beth..." said Bruce painfully.

"Three. Ever. I don't know, you must be pretty special or something."

"I'm just good for snoggin'," said Kiesha cheekily. "Eh, handsome?"

Bruce blushed red to the tips of his hair.

Melissa turned up about an hour later, after the prefects' meeting in the first compartment had ended. "Guess who the new prefects are," she said, sliding into the seat beside Beth. "Hello," she said to Kiesha, as an afterthought, who returned the greeting.

"Draco Malfoy," said Beth instantly.

Melissa looked almost affronted. "How did you know?"

"You looked excited," Beth said, rolling her eyes. "You've loved the kid since we met him."

"On this very train," said Melissa nostalgically. "Four years to the day."

"Who did you say the other one was?" Bruce interrupted. His opinion of Draco Malfoy was not as high as Melissa's.

"Oh - Pansy Parkinson," said Melissa, her face falling a little. "I don't quite understand it, I was really expecting it to be Blaise..." She fell silent for a moment, thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Oh well. Dumbledore works in mysterious ways."

"Amen," said Beth, eyeing Melissa's own prefect badge.

"I don't suppose you noticed who it was for Ravenclaw?" Kiesha said hopefully.

"Who cares?" Melissa tossed off. She paused in realization. "Oh I'm sorry, I forgot-"

But Kiesha only tilted her head thoughtfully and said, "Funny, isn't it? _We_ always make sure to notice who it is for Slytherin. It can determine what kind of year we have."

"Ah," said Melissa, a little pink. "Well-"

Very fortunately, her stammering was interrupted just then by the lunch cart, and for a few moments they were all heavily distracted by the selection of sweets and sandwiches. Minutes later (even before Bruce had finished his first pair of Cauldron Cakes), the door to the compartment swung open and their fellow seventh-year Slytherins, Aaron Pucey and Mervin Fletcher, peered inside.

"Can we join you?"

"Sure." Beth scooted over to make room for them. "I thought you were sitting with Warrington."

Aaron and Mervin made identical faces of disgust. "We were," said Mervin bitterly, "until _Antigone_ showed up."

"It was revolting," said Aaron. "We had to leave." He glanced up and his eyes narrowed as he noticed Kiesha for the first time. "Who're you?"

Kiesha stuck out her hand. "Kiesha Chambers."

Aaron started to shake her hand, then abruptly dropped it. "The Ravenclaw Chaser? You scored some eighty points on us last year in the scrimmage!"

"Bloody right," said Kiesha promptly. Beth found herself liking the girl more and more as time went on. "Would've been more but Bletchley here got lucky a few times."

"Lucky!" said Aaron indignantly, and Bruce blushed red again (he seemed to be more susceptible to that, Beth noticed, with Kiesha around). "If Bruce is half so lucky this year we'll take the Quidditch Cup in a walk. And with him as captain - you'd better tell your boy Davies to hang up his broom before he embarrasses himself."

"Roger has no intention of hanging up his broom," said Kiesha, almost relishing the fight, "and neither do I."

"I didn't know you'd be captain this year," said Beth, to Bruce. "Congratulations."

"He's really the only choice," said Melissa practically, as Bruce's blush started to flare up again. "Four years of experience ought to count for something. Not that Warrington hasn't got just as much," she added to Aaron, "but, you know..."

"Right, he's a bit thick," agreed Aaron, with complete equanimity.

"Yes, exactly," said Melissa.

"It _was_ odd," said Bruce, frowning slightly. "I thought they'd mention it in my school letter." He shrugged. "Quidditch trials are going to be interesting, that's for sure. We need two new Beaters and I'm not sure yet how the Chasers are going to shake out-"

"I'm trying out," said Aaron immediately. "My arm's healed up, I can write and everything-"

"We'll see," said Bruce patiently.

They spent a long time guessing at the probable members of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams. Gryffindor was only lacking a Keeper, Oliver Wood having left school and gone professional two years ago, and someone had to be elected replacement captain, but Hufflepuff had graduated both Beaters and a Chaser. Of course, they had also lost their Seeker.

"Cedric was good," said Kiesha in a troubled tone, and Bruce nodded assent. "Really good. He really thought that Hufflepuff had a chance this year."

Beth and Melissa exchanged a glance. The whole Society knew that Cedric Diggory had magically enhanced his abilities with the Transcongus Brew, which had ultimately claimed his life; but in the course of trying to save him, Beth had come to respect his drive and sense of honor.

Even Aaron looked a little subdued at the mention of Cedric. "I wonder what Diggory did to himself in there," he said, shaking his head. "I heard there wasn't a mark on his body."

Kiesha cocked her head. "You don't believe what Dumbledore told us at the end of last year?"

Aaron snorted. "The fellow's half mad."

"Well, that's true," Kiesha agreed.

The rest of them, who knew perfectly well who had killed Cedric Diggory, remained silent.

The train rumbled on, through mountain and valley, ever northward. The weather changed almost as much as the scenery; one moment the window would be full of pale sunlight, then the train would round a bend and come under the shadow of clouds. There were even a few bouts of halfhearted rain. By dusk it had settled into a cold, cloudy dreariness, the air heavy with unfallen rain. The Hogwarts Express screeched into the Hogsmeade well after nightfall, illuminated only by the pale lamps at the station. The Quidditch boys got lost somehow in the disembarking, so Beth, Melissa and Mervin hung together as they fought their way through the crowd.

"First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!"

All three of them swiveled toward the voice. The gray-haired witch swinging a lantern and collecting firsties was definitely not Hagrid.

"Grubbs," said Beth in amazement.

"Professor Grubbly-Plank," Melissa corrected absently. "How odd, I wonder where Hagrid is."

Mervin snorted. "If we're lucky, he's come to his senses and resigned."

"Maybe," said Melissa, brightening. "Hopefully we'll have a few good lessons before he comes back. She's sure to know what to teach us for the N.E.W.T.s."

Beth led them out of the station towards the horseless carriages. She didn't say anything, but the fact that the groundskeeper had vanished and been replaced with a Society member struck her as ominous.

The three of them found an unoccupied carriage and crammed in. As soon as the door was closed, it lurched to life and began to roll up the path. The wheels squelched in the muddy ruts made by the carriages before it; the air streaming past was slightly chilly and smelled like spring. The train of carriages wound, snakelike, past the lake, through the pine forests, and finally through the great iron gates that bordered the Hogwarts grounds.

They were back in Hogwarts at last.


	7. The Sorting Feast

**Chapter Seven: The Sorting Feast**

Theirs was one of the last coaches to arrive; by the time the three of them hurried up the great stone steps into the Entrance Hall and met up with the other seventh-years, the Great Hall was nearly full. Around the Slytherin table stood an unusually large knot of older students, talking and laughing conspicuously.

"Don't tell me Draco's doing his impressions already," said Beth, rolling her eyes.

"I wonder if Potter fainted on the train again," said Mervin eagerly.

The crowd shifted so that they could see past the clustered bodies to the person at the epicenter.

Bruce's face fell into a stunned mask. "That's not..."

Aaron's eyes lit up. "It _is!_"

The large boy turned towards them, and Warrington rumbled:

"Montague!"

Donegal Montague, former Slytherin Chaser and Hogwarts expellee, broke from the crowd and sauntered toward them, a smug expression on his pockmarked face. He had certainly grown during his year away from Hogwarts; his broad shoulders indicated that he hadn't wasted his chance to spend extra time training.

"Well well," he said, drawing near to them, "looks like the team's back together." He clapped Warrington on the shoulder. "You're looking good. Pucey, how's the arm?"

"Great," said Aaron excitedly, flexing his fingers. "I worked on it all summer."

Montague nodded, satisfied. "Good to hear. Snape's made me captain this year and I want as many experienced players as I can get." He cast a glance at Bruce. "Why Bletchley, you don't look happy to see me!"

Bruce was still looking rather stunned. "Sure I am," he managed. "I just never heard of anyone getting unexpelled."

"I'm the exception to every rule," said Montague smugly. His joviality held a kind of challenge. "I got my O.W.L.s, I'm back up to scratch. And God knows the team needs me."

Bruce's shoulders stiffened. Then he forced a smile and extended his hand. "Welcome back. We're going to have a good season."

"Oh yeah." Montague wore the grin of a crocodile. "Yeah, we are."

He gave Bruce's hand another squeeze, slapped him on the shoulder, and went back to the end of the table.

"This is fantastic," gushed Aaron, as the seventh-years hijacked a set of seats at one end of the table. "Up to five returning players, and Montague's a bloody good Chaser... Sets us up nice for next year too... Nice bit of luck that he's back, eh?"

"Nice," Bruce echoed halfheartedly.

Beth didn't say anything, but felt a pang of genuine for sympathy for Bruce. She had never doubted that he would be made captain of the Quidditch team one day. It hurt to see his dream dashed. Still, she thought with an inward sigh, they should have seen it coming after Bruce's infamous failure to appear at the championship game in fifth year. He had done it to protest Marcus Flint's barbaric strategies; Don Montague, Beth remembered, had the same sort of tendency to foul first and think later.

There came a hush and murmurs as the doors to the Great Hall swung open and the first-years, led by Professor McGonagall, filed in and lined up at the front of the hall. Melissa and Bruce craned their necks to get a look at them. They looked unbelievably young. Beth waffled for a moment, then finally pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill to record the Sorting. The Dark Lord might want to see it ... and if not, well, you never knew when it would be useful.

Professor McGonagall set down the stool she had been carrying and stood back. The Sorting Hat slouched on its stool for a single dramatic moment, in which it did its best to look like an inanimate object. Then the tear in its brim opened wide and the hat, as it did each year, began to sing.

It sounded at first similar to the previous year's song, describing the founding of the school, but one line caught Beth's attention:

_For were there such friends anywhere as Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
Unless it was the second pair of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

Beth knew that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor must have once cooperated in the building of the school ... but best friends? It sounded a little farfetched. She noticed a few of the Ravenclaws casting sidelong glances at the Hufflepuff table.

_So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail?  
Why, I was there and so can tell the whole sad, sorry tale.  
Said Slytherin, "We'll just teach those whose ancestry is purest."  
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose intelligence is surest."  
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."  
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot and treat them just the same."_

"I knew it!" Melissa hissed gleefully. "Hufflepuff really is the leftover house!"

"Hush!"

The story woven in the Sorting Hat's song may have been legend, or fact: the Founders had compromised with the four-house system, but it wasn't long before passions rose and infighting nearly overtook the school. When Slytherin left, according to the song, the fighting died out. (There wasn't a verse about how he had left a basilisk in the basement as a goodbye present.) Beth couldn't help but think that since the Sorting Hat had been on Gryffindor's head at the time, it might have been a little biased.

_And never since the Founders four were whittled down to three  
Have the Houses been united as they once were meant to be.  
And now the Sorting Hat is here and you all know the score:  
I sort you into Houses because that is what I'm for,  
__  
But this year I'll go further, listen closely to my song:  
Though condemned I am to split you still I worry that it's wrong,  
Though I must fulfill my duty and must quarter every year  
Still I wonder whether sorting may not bring the end I fear._

Oh, know the perils, read the signs, the warning history shows,  
For our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes  
And we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within  
I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin.

The hat ended its song and the Great Hall filled with applause ... but Beth noticed a restless, confused whispering over the clapping of hands.

"That was very odd," said Melissa, looking closely at the hat which now slumped, immobile, upon its stool. "Did you get it?"

"I got it." Beth handed her the napkin and grabbed another on which to record the Sorting.

The first boy went to Gryffindor ("Typical," muttered Mervin, "we never get the first one,") and was followed by a bright-eyed girl sent, after a short deliberation, to Ravenclaw.

"It was just so _different_," muttered Melissa, almost to herself. Clearly, her mind was still back on the Sorting Hat's new song. "Does it know something that we don't?"

"Hush," said Bruce tensely. "They're in the B's."

Beth had no idea why this was a big deal until she heard McGonagall call out the next name:

"Bletchley, Sally!"

Beth had completely forgotten that Bruce's sister would have to be Sorted before she joined them. The little girl came forward fearlessly and clambered onto the stool.

The Sorting Hat perched on her ears for several long moments. Sally began to fidget. Then the tear in the brim opened wide:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The far side of the hall rang with cheers. Beaming, Sally leapt from the stool and ran over to the Gryffindor table, surrounded by well-wishers. She turned toward the Slytherin table and gave her brother an enthusiastic wave.

Quickly Beth turned to Bruce. He sat frozen, his mouth slightly ajar. Very slowly, he raised one hand and gave her a feeble wave in return. Sally, however, may not have noticed; she was already chatting excitedly with the upper-class Gryffindors.

"Burkes, Beauregard!"

"Oh Bruce," said Melissa, with genuine sympathy, "I'm really sorry."

Bruce shook her hand from his shoulder roughly. "Don't be," he said shortly. "She was Sorted, wasn't she? It's where she belongs." He took a long drink from his glass.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"He looks like a good flyer," Bruce said, eyeing Beauregard Burkes critically. "Light, graceful. We'll need another Seeker in a few years. Wonder if his eye's any good."

Beth and Melissa exchanged uncertain looks, then silently agreed to drop the subject.

A few dozen firsties and a handful of Slytherins later, the Sorting was finished. Beth put away her pen and notes as McGonagall removed the hat and stool from the front of the room. At the head table, Headmaster Dumbledore rose and spread his arms in a warm and enthusiastic welcome.

"To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

There was laughter and applause. "That man really knows how to please a crowd," said Mervin, as heaping platters of food and drink rose from the empty table before them.

"Nitwit blubber oddment tweak," said Bruce, attacking a plate of chops.

"It doesn't matter what the Daily Prophet says about him," Melissa mused, "he's always going to be influential." She watched Professor Dumbledore for a moment, chatting lightheartedly with Professor McGonagall on his left, and then reached for a large silver platter of baked potatoes. She took one and then shoved the platter under Beth's nose.

"You want a potato, Beth?"

"No thanks."

Melissa fixed her with a very meaningful look. "Let me rephrase that," she said pointedly. "You _want_ a potato, Beth."

Beth glanced down at the plate of baked potatoes in her friend's hand. Usually, they smuggled start-of-year notes to the new S.S.A. inductees inside those potatoes. Beth had been under the assumption that there would be no notes passed. Just as deliberately, she said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Can't make it worse," said Melissa. She picked up a potato and dumped it onto Beth's plate. "I'll be back."

It took about five minutes for Melissa to wander around the table and drop a potato at each member's plate. She returned with an empty platter and a disgruntled expression. "You weren't kidding about Oren last year," she muttered to Mervin, "that boy _hates_ potatoes. I think he was ready to throw it back at me." She plunked back down and set aside the empty platter, which sank into the table and then popped back up, refilled with crescent rolls. "Good thing I'm so intimidating."

Beth muffled a snort.

Her job as Society President done, Melissa dished herself some chicken and immediately began to scan the Great Hall for new faces, noteworthy conversations and interesting seating arrangements. Her eyes fell on the front of the Great Hall. "Well! It's about time!"

Beth had not been paying attention. "What are you talking about?"

Melissa gestured to the head table. "Our new D.A.D.A. professor. She's a woman. And I say, it's about time!"

Beth followed where her friend was pointing. A dumpy, middle-aged woman wearing a pink cardigan and a simpering smile was seated to Dumbledore's right. For a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, she just didn't look very dangerous. Beth let out a snort.

"Are you sure that's her?"

"Don't be ridiculous, she's the only new face. Of course it's her." Melissa straightened her robes fussily. "She looks quite familiar. I wonder where I've met her."

"It certainly wasn't in Gladrags," said Antigone from further down the table, looking the woman up and down disdainfully. "Honestly, when _will_ they hire a professor with some sense of fashion?"

"There was Lockhart," Melissa pointed out.

Beth shuddered. "You've got to be kidding. Remember what he wore on Valentine's Day?"

Melissa's face fell. "The pink robes. Right." She heaved a sigh. "He _did_ look nice in turquoise, though, didn't he?"

Beth reluctantly had to admit that that was true.

It wasn't long before the desserts faded away and Dumbledore rose to his feet at the Head Table. Beth got out her Quick-Quotes Quill again.

"Well," said Dumbledore, looking as usual delighted at the start of a new school year, "now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices. First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."

Beth thought she saw his gaze slide toward the Gryffindor table.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door."

Mervin looked interested. Beth suspected it wasn't because he wanted to be a more effective prefect.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year."

"Oh gosh, we hadn't noticed," muttered Bruce. Beth elbowed him in the ribs.

"We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the-"

"_Hem hem._"

"Take place on the _what?_" Aaron said desperately, leaning forward. He was destined, however, never to learn, because the pink-clad woman to Dumbledore's right was standing up, simpering up at him in a very expectant way. Dumbledore paused for just a minute before plopping into his seat and turning toward her like a fascinated schoolchild.

"Take place on the what?" repeated Aaron helplessly.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for those kind words of welcome. Hem hem." She cleared her throat again with a funny, feathery little noise. "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

"Oh, _please_," muttered Bruce, rolling his eyes.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance," Professor Umbridge went on. Her voice had somehow lost all intonation and now held the wooden pacing of frequent rehearsal. "The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

At the head table, Professor Snape curled his lip. Everybody knew that he hated the legions of people who had come in to fill the D.A.D.A. position, because he wanted it himself; clearly, though, there was a special place in his black heart for this one.

"Hem hem. Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school..."

Her voice had begun to drone. By now hardly anybody was paying attention. Aaron got out his new set of Gobstones to show them off to Warrington, examining each with an expert eye. Bruce sat back in his seat and watched the clouds roll across the enchanted ceiling. Mervin started to carve into the table with his silverware until one of the other prefects stopped him.

Beth let her eyes roam around the Great Hall. She was surprised to see how few of the faces were familiar: she recognized nearly all of the older students, but she had never crossed paths with most of the younger ones. Apart from her own house, she had spent most of the previous year with either Cedric Diggory or the Durmstrang students. Now none of those remained. She was left with the Slytherins, and very few others.

"...preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

The hall rang with silence.

Beth glanced up at the head table to see Umbridge seated once again. Dumbledore and the staff began to applaud, but without real vigor; a few students joined in, but it died early. Umbridge did not appear to mind. Finally, Dumbledore stood up again.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating." He dropped a polite bow in her direction. "Now - as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held during the first two weeks of school. Please see your heads of house or team captains for specific times. Our flying instructor Madam Hooch also has access to the field schedule."

Most of the Quidditch team turned to look at Montague, who gave them a cocky thumbs-up signal and mouthed, "Saturday."

"Finally," said the headmaster, "I must remind you that first years are advised that they are not allowed to own their own brooms." Dumbledore gazed out at them, seeming to take in each student's face at once. Then he smiled and raised his hands once more. "Well, the key to learning is a good night's sleep, and it seems to me that we ought to start now. First-years may follow their prefects to their dormitories. Now - off to bed with you all!"

The older students began standing up and starting towards the dormitories, while the first-years milled around wondering how to identify the aforementioned prefects.

"We didn't sing the school song," Beth noted.

"Thank heavens," muttered Melissa. "The cacophony gives me indigestion. First years, Slytherin first years! All first years, follow me, please!" she called over the crowd, while Mervin, on the other side of the table, yelled, "Come on you lot, firsties over here."

They started down the stairs toward the dungeons, prefects in the lead. Pansy Parkinson had taken a couple of the first-year girls under her wing, but Draco didn't so much look like a guide as a prince, haughtily leading the way with his courtiers flocked around him.

Beth hung back near Aaron and Bruce. It wasn't as if she didn't know how to get to the common room by now, and she could always get the password from Melissa before bed. She let herself be swept along in the tail end of the crowd, down the steps and past the familiar portraits, through the ever-darkening stone corridors, and finally to the stretch of bare wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin quarters.

Melissa worked her way to the front of the crowd. "_Nigellus_."

The stones began to churn and pull away to reveal entrance to the common room.

Beth felt a chill slide up her spine. Even amid the press of the crowd, she suddenly felt very strongly that someone's eyes were fixed to the back of her head. She turned instinctively in the direction of the Great Hall. A shadow - maybe the edge of a cloak - flickered around a corner and was gone.

_I don't like that,_ thought Beth, holding very still.

Something grabbed her arm.

Beth jumped halfway to the ceiling and came down blushing furiously. It was Melissa, laughing, completely in her element. "Are you going to stand out here all night?"

"I thought I saw somebody following us," said Beth, looking over her shoulder again.

"You know, maybe you're right," said Melissa, opening her eyes wide. "Maybe it was _all of Slytherin house_ coming down to the dorms from the feast."

"Har har," said Beth irritably. "Then why did they turn around and leave once you gave the password?"

Melissa shrugged. "Must have left something upstairs."

At the sight of Beth's dubious expression, she frowned and pulled her aside.

"Listen, please, Beth," she said, with a strangely worried expression, "it's been a hard summer, I know. But this is Hogwarts. We're safe in here. This is the one place You-Know-Who can't come. So what if he spies on us? We won't be doing anything worth seeing. This is the safest place we can be. It's so secure that they hid the Philosopher's Stone here."

She went off to show the first-years to their dormitories.

Beth watched her go. It occurred to her that the Philosopher's Stone hadn't been as safe in Hogwarts as expected.


	8. The Rules of the Year

**Chapter Eight: The Rules of the Year**

Beth awoke before her alarm clock. She felt warm and relaxed; through her closed eyelids she could sense the sunlight peeking through a crack in her canopies. She snuggled down into her pillow, not wanting to open her eyes yet. The first day of her last year of school ... she'd been looking forward to it for six years, but right now she was willing to wait a few more minutes before it began. 

The complete emptiness of her mind was welcome. Soon she'd have to start thinking about important things again. But for the moment... 

The alarm clock blared. Beth opened her eyes with a sigh. The really nice moments never last. 

She endured the usual fight for shower time and spent too long drying her hair afterward; Melissa was in the same bind so they came up to breakfast together, several minutes after most of the house had already left. Professor Snape had apparently just been around with schedules; Beth and Melissa found theirs among a pile in the middle of the table. Bruce extracted his own from the stack and glanced it over before sticking it in his pocket. 

"Our last schedules," said Bruce, with relish. He seemed in a much better mood this morning. He raised his orange juice. "Here's to never having to go through this again." 

"Cheers," said Aaron Pucey. He clinked his milk against Bruce's glass. 

"_I'll_ drink to that," said Antigone von Dervish languidly. She and Warrington joined the toast. 

Melissa and Mervin raised their coffee; Beth held up her mug of tea. "To the Slytherin class of '96," said Melissa grandly, "and to the last time for everything." 

Six years of living, eating, fighting, and studying together came down to this: a toast at breakfast, and only one year to go. 

Beth read down through her schedule. There was no Alchemy, of course: the program only went through three years. Still, with N.E.W.T.s level Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, D.A.D.A. and Arithmancy, plus top-level Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic, her load didn't look a whole lot lighter. 

"Going to be a hard year," she commented, to no one in particular. 

"Considering that it is your last chance to enjoy true academia," came a cold voice beside her, "it very much ought to be." 

Beth looked up. Professor Snape loomed over the table. She stood up. "Yes," she said, running a slight blush. "It should." 

Snape's expression, while not friendly, seemed at its least poisonous. "I was wondering, Miss Parson, would you be so kind as to stop by room seven hundred thirty-five just after your second class?" 

Room seven thirty-five was the Alchemy classroom. "Sure," said Beth, surprised. She had been intending to avoid that particular chamber of torture at all costs. "Should I bring anything?" 

"No." Snape's expression gave no hints. "I expect to see you then, Miss Parson." 

"See you then," Beth echoed. She watched as Professor Snape whisked away in the direction of the Gryffindor table, possibly hoping to catch some rule-breakers so he could get a head start on his point-taking for the year. 

"_Well,_" said Melissa meaningfully, as Beth sat back down. 

"Well what?" Beth got another piece of toast. "_I_ don't know what he wants." 

"Exactly," said Mervin, edging into the conversation. "That could either be really good, or really bad." 

Beth rolled her eyes. "Or really boring. Probably he's found some information for me about entry-level jobs in the alchemy field. He mentioned it the other year." 

"You're going to get one heck of a recommendation letter from him," Bruce observed, soaking up the last of his eggs with a wedge of toast. "Tutoring for him, and whatnot." 

"Maybe," said Beth, wanting to change the subject. 

"You'll need it," Mervin said dourly. "What with all the you-know-what about You-Know-Who, and the Prophet's losing credibility, the job market's dropping off." 

He didn't have time to expound on that theory, although Beth was interested in what he had said; the bell rang for classes and they made their way to Charms, complaining about having to face Flitwick's eternal cheer this early in the morning. 

As Beth passed by the Hufflepuff table she thought she saw a few heads turn in her direction. She looked back and a flurry of movement confirmed it. She wiped her mouth to make sure there wasn't any breakfast left on her face. 

The same thing happened as they passed a cluster of Gryffindors at the staircase. This time Beth nudged Melissa and muttered, "Is there something on my face?" 

Melissa looked her over closely and shook her head. 

A pair of Ravenclaws stopped talking as they went by and then started up whispering. 

By the time they reached the door of the Charms classroom, Beth was sure she had seen half a dozen people staring directly at her. She pulled Melissa aside at the door. 

"This is going to sound really weird," she muttered, casting glances into the crowded hallway with half-ashamed paranoia, "but I think people keep looking at me." 

To her surprise, Melissa nodded. "Really, that's to be expected." 

"But _why?_" 

Melissa cast her friend a guilty little glance. "Well - they're awkward, I expect. They don't know what to say." 

"About what?" said Beth, highly exasperated. 

Melissa looked fairly awkward herself. "Well - you know - about Richard." 

"Oh." Beth fiddled with the rings around her neck, discomfited. "But nobody was staring at me last night!" 

"Well, I expect that those who knew about it told their friends," Melissa said. She didn't look happy to be the one to explain things. "You know how people are - it's gossip, it's interesting." 

"It's interesting gossip that my boyfriend's dead?" said Beth, too sharply. 

"Eh-" Melissa hesitated. 

"Whatever, let them talk." Beth swung her backpack over her shoulder. "We're going to be late." 

She stalked into the classroom with Melissa in her wake. 

The Charms classes were still divided by house since everyone had the class; although McGonagall and Snape were selective about their N.E.W.T.s level students, Flitwick thought that his subject was unavoidable in "the real world" and continued to teach everybody. He had not changed a bit over the summer, although instead of his usual first-day descriptions of what they would learn during the year, he lectured them all about the importance of the N.E.W.T.s and described the sort of thing that would be on the test. Beth thought it sounded suspiciously like the speech he had given them in fifth-year about the O.W.L.s. Having been through the wizarding levels once before, it was far less impressive this time around. Only Melissa seemed to be seriously taking notes on his advice. 

Afterward they made a beeline for the grounds, wanting to take advantage of the last few really nice days, chatting about which parts of the Charms syllabus were really worth learning. The rest of the seventh-years dispersed while Beth, Melissa and Bruce took up a post against a wall of the castle. Leaning against the stone, watching the younger students chase each other around the grounds, Beth once again felt extremely old. 

"It seems a bit pointless," said Bruce. He spoke in an undertone; still casual, but quiet enough that passersby wouldn't be able to make out his words. "Here's Flitwick going on about some stupid test, when You-Know-Who's out there planning things." 

Beth tended to agree, but Melissa looked shocked. 

"_Pointless?_ Just because we're being used as pawns by the Dark Lord doesn't mean we don't have to worry about N.E.W.T.s!" 

Bruce's jaw dropped. "Do you ever actually _listen_ to yourself?" 

"We're going to need them in the long run," said Melissa firmly, ignoring him. "I wonder if they'll let us set up those extra preparatory sessions like they did for the O.W.L.s?" 

Beth let out a huff of disbelief. "Mel, those sessions were _not a success,_" she said impatiently. "We just spent all that time fighting with the other houses." 

"But we do that all the time anyway," Melissa argued. "We may as well be studying at the same time. I'm going to talk to the other prefects about it. You _will_ come, won't you, if they agree?" 

"Oh, fine," said Beth, watching a hyperactive group of second-years chase each other around the grounds. 

"As long as it doesn't overlap Quidditch practice," said Bruce. 

Melissa raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Still going to be on the team? Even with the regime change?" 

"I'm not giving up Quidditch just for one guy," said Bruce placidly, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "It may not be so bad." 

Melissa looked almost impressed. "Brucey, I underestimated you." 

Bruce shrugged. "There are worse things around here than Montague." He cast a meaningful glance at Beth. 

"By the way," Melissa added, in a casual but low voice, "you may want to read that Society note sometime." 

Beth had completely forgotten about the message from the Sorting Feast. It was still in the pocket of her robes; she pulled it out opened it up close to the wall. 

Tiny beads of ink welled up from the page and fell into formation. 

_The Society for Slytherin Advancement within Hogwarts will operate according to   
the following guidelines for the duration of the school year.   
- There will be no new inductees.   
- There will be no meetings.   
- Members will avoid both headquarters within the castle walls as well as the one outside of them.   
- Members will avoid each other unless common classes or preexisting friendships   
render their interactions unsuspicious._

Beth read the note several times to be sure she understood it all. Much of it had been laid out at the end of the previous year; Richard had already suggested canning the meetings and the newbies. Melissa's instructions only took the precautions to their logical ends. The Society was to act as if it didn't exist. 

The bell rang for class and Beth stuck the note back in her pocket. She nodded at Melissa to show that she understood, then the two of them dispersed: Melissa to Ancient Runes, Beth to Arithmancy. 

Although Arithmancy was considered one of the toughest subjects at Hogwarts, Professor Vector was one of the most lenient professors. She didn't assign any homework, as usual, and spent much of the class chatting about her summer trip to Morocco. She even let them go a few minutes early, with a wave and a cheery warning that on Wednesday the real work would begin. 

With those few extra moments, Beth was able to get to room seven thirty-five to meet Professor Snape just before the bell rang for lunch. She waited until the largest flux of students had squeezed out the door before slipping inside and approaching Snape, who stood behind the desk. 

"One moment, Miss Parson," he said, gazing at the back row of seats. 

The classroom was not empty. Evan Wilkes, dark hair falling into his eyes, sat hunched over a bit of paper, writing furiously. As they watched, he put a final scrawl on his paper and put away his quill. Slinging his knapsack onto a shoulder, he picked up the paper and started for the front of the room. 

He approached Professor Snape fearlessly. "I've decided on my project," he said, handing over the parchment to Professor Snape. Beth leaned over to take a look, but she could only make out the shape of a heading and a hastily-scrawled abstract. 

"After nearly thirty minutes of deliberation." Snape's eyes rested on the parchment. 

For just a moment, the Potions Master was completely silent. His bearing grew chillier than ever; his eyes were riveted to the parchment, flashing quickly from one margin to the other. Evan waited motionlessly. 

Finally Snape looked up. "You are absolutely certain that this is what you want to undertake?" Evan gave a curt nod. "Very well. Your grade is yours to destroy." He folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his robes. "I will hold you to this, Mr. Wilkes." 

"I have no intention of changing it," said Evan. He left the room without a glance backward. 

Beth watched him go. "What is he going to try to do?" she asked. 

She expected a derisive response. Instead, Professor Snape said, in a surprisingly somber tone, "Something very foolish, and very likely impossible." 

Before Beth could respond to that, or even realize what he had said, Snape snapped back into his usual crisp demeanor. "You must be relieved to have done with your own final alchemy project. I wonder if you would be willing to put your skills to use." 

Beth wasn't sure she had acquired any skills from the project except for extreme cramming under pressure. "How do you mean?" she said politely. 

"I expect my schedule to be more demanding this year," said Snape, without explanation, "and could make use of a part-time assistant. Would you be available for a few hours per week?" 

"To do what?" said Beth, immediately aware of how stupid her response was. Still, this was the last thing she had been expecting. 

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your job will consist almost exclusively of analyzing failed potions to determine where the student went wrong." By his expression alone, Beth could tell how much he hated doing it himself. "It is not a difficult job, but it is tedious. Such experience could be invaluable to your future, Miss Parson," he added. "And after such extensive application, I expect that earning a N.E.W.T. in the field would be child's play." 

That sounded awfully tempting. Beth didn't say anything for a moment, turning over his words in her head, so Professor Snape went on: 

"I appreciated your willingness to work with Colin Creevey. Of course since your tutelage he has fallen appallingly behind ... which puts him right on par with the rest of his classmates." His mouth twisted a little into his special I'm-thinking-about-Gryffindors sneer. "Nevertheless Headmaster Dumbledore considers your work a success. And your final project for Alchemy - while hastily concluded-" Beth blushed. "-was one of the better ones handed in to me." 

"Thank you," said Beth awkwardly. She didn't mind him knowing it was "hastily concluded" so long as he never found out that she had stolen her key ingredient from Greenhouse Five the night before the potion was due. 

Snape finished the conversation briskly. "Then you'll take the job?" 

"Yes." Beth sounded more surprised than grateful, and realized it. "Yes, thank you. It sounds great." 

"Excellent. Thursday at six o'clock, then." 

"That sounds fine." 

"The first day's work shall no doubt be the worst," Snape said gravely. Then his mouth twisted slightly upward. "The first-years' boil-reducing potions are a uniform catastrophe." 

Beth laughed. She thanked him again and headed up to lunch, cheery. 

Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all. 

-'-'-

"I always look forward to the first D.A.D.A. class," said Melissa idly, at breakfast on Tuesday. "It's like a guessing game. The unknown factor is finally revealed." 

"It's more like the lottery," said Mervin, fiddling moodily with his fork. "What'll it be? Werewolf? Egomaniac? Maybe a good old-fashioned Death Eater?" 

"I could go for another egomaniac," said Aaron breezily. "He was easy." 

"And nice to look at," purred Antigone, from down the table. "So are you, love," she added to Warrington, who looked as though he wasn't sure whether he should be jealous or not. (Then again, Beth thought, "unsure" was Warrington's default expression.) 

"I don't care who it is," said Bruce darkly, "so long as they have the sense to leave their boggarts at home." 

There were murmurs of assent. Professor Lupin had been their most competent Defense teacher so far, but no one had quite forgiven him for making them face their fears in front of their classmates. 

The bell rang for class and the group of them packed up and started outside toward the greenhouses in which Professor Sprout held her classes. Beth's mind was occupied with memories of the boggart from nearly two years ago. Upon seeing her it had turned into her brother Lycaeon, ragged, claiming to have escaped Azkaban and begging for help. She shuddered. She wondered what a boggart would become for her now, since she had seen Lycaeon in person, and stopped herself before she could think of an answer. Some things were not worth knowing. 

They trouped out across the grounds. The late-summer sun still rode low in the sky; the richly green grass cushioned their shoes, far-off leaves hinted at the colors they would become. The group of them filed into the furthest greenhouse along with their Ravenclaw counterparts. 

Beth hadn't taken Herbology for years. The scent of earth, the feel of leaf, and the pleasure of growth that meant so much to her father were utterly lost on her. She wouldn't even be there if Snape hadn't recommended she take it - an alchemist, he claimed, should be familiar with his ingredients. 

To nobody's surprise, she found herself overwhelmingly behind, and Sprout's talk about the N.E.W.T.s only made it worse. She wished she had never gotten any career advice from Snape. Despairing, she waited out the lesson only by imagining all the school greenhouses on fire. 

After Herbology they took their time getting back to the castle, loitering around until the bell rang. Then - squinting down the corridors that were so much darker than the sunlit grounds - they worked through the crowd towards DADA. 

Professor Umbridge was already there, seated at the teacher's desk and watching them enter. It was slightly unnerving. As they tended to do under scrutiny, the seven of them kept up their banter and paid her no attention at all. They went into their usual seating pattern, and only broke off their chatter as the final bell rang for class. 

"Gracious," said Antigone lazily, her voice only just barely audible. "You'd think she would have at least changed her cardigan." 

Beth held back a laugh; Melissa didn't bother. Professor Umbridge wore the same awful pink sweater that she had worn at the Sorting Feast. She turned towards the three smirking girls and gave them a wide smile, as if she thought they were laughing at the sheer joy of being there. 

When everyone had mostly settled in, Professor Umbridge cleared her throat (_"Hem hem!"_) and held up a hand. 

"Good morning, class!" sang Professor Umbridge. 

The students looked at each other. 

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "From now on, I should like you all to reply with 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge.' Let's try it again, shall we? Good morning!" 

No one spoke. Mervin arched his eyebrow at Beth in amused disbelief. Antigone let out a disdainful snort. 

"Well then," said Professor Umbridge, losing none of her honey-coated tone, "there are - let me see - seven of you? Then I suppose that will mean fourteen house points are taken from Slytherin. Good morning, class!" 

Bruce gaped. Melissa stared at Umbridge, then shot Beth a 'who-does-she-think-she-is' glance. 

"That will be another fourteen points from Slytherin. Good morning, class!" 

This time, five or six of them managed a strangled, "Good morning, Professor Umbridge." 

The Professor's toothy smile took up most of her broad face. "Much better. I will expect to be greeted at the beginning of every class. It's important that we get to be friends!" Aaron snorted and hastily covered it with a coughing fit. "Now, I'm going to call out your names, please raise your hands nice and high so that I can get to know you!" 

She shuffled through her papers until she found the class rolls. 

"Miles Bletchley!" 

Bruce raised his hand. "I go by Bruce." 

Professor Umbridge shook her head. "Tut tut, Mr. Bletchley, you should be proud to take the name your parents gave you. Mervin Fletcher!" 

Mervin raised his hand. "I go by Bruce," he said solemnly. 

Professor Umbridge narrowed her eyes; her fluttery voice somehow took on a chill without losing its high, flimsy quality. "Now children, must you really play these silly games? I'm afraid I must take another five points from each of you." Bruce cast a furious glance at Mervin, who looked astonished that retribution had been so swift and cold. "I do hope we may continue with no more frivolities. Melissa Ollivander!" 

Roll call continued without incident. (Thirty-eight lost house points could do that, Beth admitted to herself.) As soon as it was over, Professor Umbridge rolled up the list with a snap and put it away in her desk. "Wands away, quills out, please!" she sang out. 

Beth already had her supplies out. She put her wand in her backpack reluctantly; she had made a habit of carrying it with her all summer, and felt a little nervous without it at hand. Antigone lay out a scroll and quill, got out a file, and went to work on her nails. Warrington, who had forgotten his wand in his nightstand, was equally bereft of paper and ended up borrowing several long pieces of parchment and half a broken pencil from Aaron. 

While all this was going on, Professor Umbridge tapped her wand to the board so that two lines appeared in very flowery handwriting: "Defense Against the Dark Arts. A Return to Basic Principles." She turned back to the class with a broad smile. 

"Well now," she said, smiling around at all of them, "your instruction in this class has been quite haphazard, hasn't it?" 

Melissa nodded sanctimoniously. 

"After all those years of disjointed teaching and a constant flux of styles, why, it's no wonder that so many of you are far behind where I should expect at N.E.W.T.s level." 

Melissa stopped nodding. 

Professor Umbridge tapped the blackboard again. 

"Fortunately, I will be following a carefully-structured, theory-centric, Ministry-approved schedule which should bring you all up to par. Your course aims are outlined on the blackboard; please copy them down." 

Everybody obeyed except Antigone, which was to be expected; when Professor Umbridge gave her a disapproving look she huffily put down her nail file and scrawled the notes hastily, then got out her nail polish and went back to work. Beth was done before Warrington had finished the second line, which was also to be expected, so she looked over what she had written. _Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic; learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can be legally used; placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._ It sounded to Beth like a pretty good curriculum: theory, application and not a boggart in sight. 

Professor Umbridge waited, her wide smile firmly in place, until Warrington had painstakingly scratched out the last word before she spoke. 

"You may have heard," she said, her girlish voice taking on a subtly dangerous tone, "that certain of your schoolmates question the worth of this class, seeing as no actual defensive spells will be performed. Let me quell that notion right now. This is a Ministry-approved curriculum and the theory which you will learn from your textbook will be more than sufficient to carry you through your N.E.W.T.s and into your careers. You will have no curses performed on you in this class, nor will you be forced to fend off dangerous magical creatures. This class will be a safe, structured environment focused on learning. _Are there any questions?_" 

There were not. Her tone had ensured it. 

"Excellent." Professor Umbridge smiled around at them. "In that case, will you all please turn to page five in your textbooks and begin reading chapter one, Basics for Beginners. There will be no need to talk." 

The class rustled open their textbooks and reluctantly started reading. 

The text was horrible. A small, cramped typeface and infinitely long paragraphs only exacerbated the bland, boring words. Halfway through the first page, Beth felt her attention drifting away. By the time she reached the bottom she was staring listlessly at the words. She finished the page and flipped to the next one, and almost instantly realized that she hadn't absorbed a word. She flipped back. 

That happened three times before the bell (merciful bell! Blessed bell!) rang to release them from their mutual stupor. Beth blinked herself awake and looked around. Antigone had long since abandoned the book and was putting away her nail file with a set of perfectly manicured fingers. Mervin's hair was sticking up on one side and there was a suspicious red mark on his cheek in the shape of the textbook. Bruce closed his book with a slam, but not before Beth noticed tiny sketches of the Golden Snitch all over the margins. 

"Thank you for your wonderful attentiveness!" called Professor Umbridge, without a hint of irony, as they streamed out the door and made a collective rush to lunch. 

They refrained from comment until they reached the Great Hall. Then everything spilled forth. 

"We've had a lot of nutters for D.A.D.A," said Aaron, with conviction, "but that Umbridge woman, she takes the cake." 

"_Twenty-eight points_ because we didn't say hello," Melissa said through her teeth. "I don't think we _have_ twenty-eight points yet. We're in the negative." 

"It's going to be the easiest class we ever sat," said Antigone offhandedly, breezing past. Warrington, with his massive arm around her waist, grunted agreement. 

"Yes, but are we going to be able to pass our N.E.W.T.s?" Melissa said helplessly, to their backs. 

Bruce brought up the rear, fuming in the direction of Mervin. "Why on earth did you pull that?" Bruce growled furiously. "I hate the name Miles. I _hate_ it." 

"Steady on," said Mervin, alarmed. "It's just one class. Odds are she'll call you Mister Bletchley anyway." 

"You'd better hope so," said Bruce. He flung his books onto the table and dragged a bowl of beef stew toward him moodily. 

"And that _book,_" said Melissa. She threw her books down beside Bruce's. "I mean, what _rot._" 

No one responded. Melissa looked round at them expectantly, then reproachfully. 

"Did any of you actually read it?" 

"No," said Aaron blithely. 

"I tried," Beth admitted, "but it was like Binns on paper. I think I just read the first page twenty times." 

"I did," said Warrington slowly. 

Everyone turned to look at him. Mervin's jaw dropped. Aaron paused with a ladle of soup halfway to his plate. "You what?" 

"I read it," said Warrington. He looked very uncomfortable; his deep voice came hesitantly. "Some of it. It said we shouldn't hex people even if they're hexing us." He shook his head disbelievingly. "That's stupid." 

"Yes," said Melissa, sounding awed. "Yes, that's precisely what it said." 

Warrington turned quite pink. 


	9. The Beginning of the End

**Chapter Nine: The Beginning of the End**

So began Beth's final year at Hogwarts. 

In a strange way, the school year was turning out to be something of a letdown. Beth had gotten used to the constant emotional flux of the Triwizard Tournament, alternating with the Vase Room thefts. She had enjoyed getting to know the Durmstrang students. Now they were back to the same old academic routine and the same old faces. The only major change, in fact, was one that had come to be expected: the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 

But to Beth, the strangest thing about the new school year wasn't the new D.A.D.A. professor (nutcase though she was), or even the elimination of S.S.A. activities. It was the absence of Richard. 

When a couple of the bratty second-years got into a tiff one evening, for example, she expected to see Richard swoop in and break it apart, and was wholly surprised when Herne did instead. Sometimes at a meal she would even catch sight of his profile, and, turning, only find some brown-haired youngster who, likely as not, looked nothing like him. 

She knew perfectly well that he wasn't going to be around, but that didn't stop her from subconsciously expecting it. 

It was strange, too, to be among the oldest students in the school. After six years of underclassmanship, there was no one left to look up to. They often found themselves chatting about Hogwarts students who had already left, or good times from days past. Sometimes they talked about their future prospects: where to live, where to work, what was the cost of living. Usually they stopped, discomfited, when someone realized how much they sounded like their own parents. 

Melissa worried about her grades. Bruce worried about Quidditch. Beth worried about her job for Professor Snape. Mervin worried about essentially everything, as was his habit, and made sure everyone knew it. Those were the concerns that they shared with each other, at the dinner table or in the common room. 

Privately, they all worried about the Dark Lord. 

But there were closer issues to be faced: Dolores Umbridge, for instance. By Thursday the word was passed among the Slytherins: if you have to be near Umbridge, be sure you're on her good side. She had given Potter a week of detention on the very first day, and there was nothing to indicate that she would hesitate to do it to anyone else. 

"What for?" Beth asked, when Blaise delivered this bit of gossip between classes on Thursday. 

"I couldn't exactly overhear," the girl admitted, frowning, "but it sounds like it had something to do with his mouthing off." 

Beth found this explanation easy to believe. 

Blaise moved across the grassy lawn just as another pair came up to it: Montague, sauntering across the courtyard, and Bruce, anxiously trying to intercept him. 

Montague propped himself against a stone wall, barely honoring Bruce with a glance. "Got a problem, Bletchley?" he inquired, grinning languidly. 

"We've got a problem," Bruce frowned, not looking as charmed at Montague's attitude as the nearby third-year girls staring hungrily at the captain. "I passed Hooch in the hallway. She told me Johnson has the pitch booked for Gryffindor practically all day on Saturday." 

Montague regarded him coolly. "Point is?" 

Bruce pushed back his hair in exasperation. "How are we supposed to have our trials with Gryffindors all over the place?" 

"Blechley, Bletchley." Montague put an arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Have faith. Your captain has a plan. Just be at the pitch ready to try out after lunch on Saturday. You've got a good shot at the position if you haven't lost your touch." 

He scrubbed his knuckles against Bruce's scalp in a fraternal fashion and strolled away across the courtyard. 

Bruce was still staring after him when Melissa bustled up, books clutched to her chest and a proud smile on her face. 

"Good news," Melissa beamed. "The other prefects want to go ahead with the N.E.W.T.s practice. Wednesday afternoons, just like before. Professor Flitwick's already agreed to lead the Charms part." 

Beth shifted her attention from Bruce, who had turned back towards them, shaking his head. "Did you ask Snape yet?" 

Melissa frowned a little. "Yes," she sighed. "He refused. Specifically, he told me that anyone wanting to pass their Potions N.E.W.T. should have spent the past six years paying attention in class instead of throwing eye of newt at each other." She cocked her head and looked at Beth. "Which was funny, I thought, because the only one I remember ever chucking around newt eyes was you." 

Bruce snorted back a laugh. 

"Spinnet deserved it," said Beth remorselessly. 

Melissa went on with barely a pause for breath. "I think we'll focus on the things that everyone will be sitting for - D.A.D.A., Charms, History of Magic. Maybe a bit of Astronomy. The specialized subjects we'll each have to do on our own, but I don't see why we can't all brush up on the basics. And look what I've got us all." 

From her knapsack she pulled a thick, floppy workbook. 

Beth took it from her hands and looked it over. Bold purple letters were spelled out across the front. 

Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Levels: A Primer

"I've got them for all us Slytherins," Melissa said proudly. "If we spend all year on them then we'll have no problem. You keep that one," she said to Beth, "I've got loads." A group of Gryffindors strode past, and she gave a start. "There goes Towler, I'd better see what he thinks of my curriculum ideas..." 

She hurried after him. 

"She is _nuts,_" said Bruce emphatically, but affectionately. 

"And you don't even live with her," Beth added. "Sometimes at night, she'll get out her _Who's Who in Wizarding Europe_ and read it like a book, like she's afraid she'll meet someone famous and not recognize them-" 

"Hey," Bruce said, "there's Sally." 

Bruce hurried up the steps and into the Entrance Hall, Beth following behind. Sally was chatting with some of her first-year classmates; when Bruce said her name, she turned around grinning. "Oh, hi, Bruce. I'll be along," she told her friends, who eyed Bruce up before scattering in the direction of the Charms corridor. 

Sally clutched a pair of massive books to her chest, and Beth was struck anew by how very young she looked compared to her brother. He positively towered over her. "How are you, Bruce?" 

"All right," said Bruce, leaning against the wall. "Getting along okay? Finding your classes?" 

"Oh yes," said Sally, "I only got lost twice on Monday, and then a nice boy named Ron showed me where to go. Bruce, I thought you said the Sorting Song was always silly but we all found it quite strange." 

"It's not usually so odd," Bruce admitted. "Well ... how're classes, then?" 

Sally beamed. "Oh, they're excellent, Bruce - and you were quite wrong about Professor McGonagall, you know, she's strict all right but isn't she clever!" She went on without acknowledging Bruce's scowl. "And we started flying lessons on Wednesday - of course I did it right first off, and Madam Hooch was very impressed, she said she could tell I was your sister." 

Bruce looked slightly mollified. "Course she could, you're a natural." 

"I want to try out for the Quidditch team next year," Sally went on. "Our trials are on Friday and I would have tried this year, but Colin Creevey says nobody ever gets on in first year so you might as well not try - except Harry, of course." 

Bruce's expression darkened again. "Potter." 

Sally frowned as well. "You oughtn't call him that, Bruce, it isn't polite." 

"Not polite?" said Bruce hotly. "That little twerp has been a thorn in my side since-" 

"Excuse me." 

They both looked up. A fifth or sixth year boy had interrupted and was looking down at Sally with a slightly worried expression. "Is this fellow causing you any trouble?" 

There was a beat of silence. Beth's jaw dropped as she realized what the boy must have seen ... a seventh-year Slytherin standing over a first-year Gryffindor ... it certainly didn't look good, but how dare he assume... 

"She's my sister," Bruce growled. 

The boy glanced down at Bruce's sister, who nodded, and raised both hands in surrender. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Just making sure..." 

"Go away," snarled Bruce. 

"You know, people would like you better if you weren't so mean all the time," said Sally tartly, as the Gryffindor boy retreated. Beth hid a smile. 

"I'm not mean," said Bruce, "and nothing I do is going to change anybody's mind about me at this point." 

"You should try," Sally said stubbornly. "The Weasley twins say-" 

"The Weasley twins!" Bruce gave a start. "You're hanging around with the Weasley twins?" 

"Yes, and they're not half so bad as you say, Bruce, they're quite funny and they're paying me to test their inventions - they're very clever - I'm not sure what they do, because last time I fainted but it's very interesting-" 

Bruce looked like his worst nightmares had come true. He grabbed his sister by her narrow shoulders. "Listen, I don't want you testing anything for those prats, do you understand? They're dangerous! They could kill you!" 

Bruce's sister narrowed her eyes. "I think I can decide for myself what's dangerous," she said importantly, and swept down the hall with first-year indignation. 

Bruce watched helplessly as she strode away; then he threw up his hands in angry resignation. "Whatever. Let her get poisoned by the Weasley twins. I'm just going to have to write Mum and tell her it's her own dumb fault." 

He headed off to class, shaking his head. 

-'-'-

That evening after dinner, Beth gathered her things and headed down to the dungeons for her first day of work with Professor Snape. 

She had been in Dungeon Five literally hundreds of times (and sprayed frog brains across its ceiling once) but her heart still pounded as she walked the cold stone corridor. She had never had a real job; chores around the house didn't count, nor did the occasional odd errand for Mr. and Mrs. Scamander. What if she really hadn't learned enough in Alchemy to do it right? What if she dropped something, or spoiled a potion, or assigned someone the wrong grade, causing them to fail Potions, be expelled and live the life of a tramp and a vagabond for the rest of their pathetic years...? 

"Get a grip," she muttered to herself. She had reached the doorway to Dungeon Five. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and went inside. 

Professor Snape was already there, scowling over a clipboard. At her entrance he looked up and acknowledged her with the barest nod of his head. Snapping aside the clipboard, he gestured toward a table upon which stood thirty glass flasks, each one half-full with potion of varying shades of brown. 

What was the function of that first potion? Beth tried to remember. "Cure for the boils," she said aloud. 

"We can only hope," said Snape dryly. "You are, I assume, familiar with the basic boil hex?" 

"What Slytherin isn't?" Beth grinned. 

"The sorely disadvantaged one," Snape replied, with the bare hint of a smile. "You will cast the hex on this toad-" He produced a box from beneath the table containing a large placid bullfrog. "-and administer each potion in turn." 

Beth momentarily pitied the toad. 

"Those potions which successfully cure it are to be marked and set aside," Snape went on. "Those which produce ... less than acceptable results will be tested further to determine their exact flaws." He swooped down upon a flask which stood out sorely from its brothers, as it contained a liquid of vivid green. 

"This is an obvious failure," said Snape, with distaste. "We'll use it as an example. As I trust you are by now aware, any number of errors could have been made in the brewing of this disaster..." 

He showed her how to test for each ingredient and the order in which they were added, the temperature at which the potion had been boiled, stirring method, and several incidental factors which could easily spoil even a basic potion like this. (The green potion, it turned out, had not only been overboiled, but two ingredients were completely left out, and they found at the bottom of the flask two Knuts and some pocket lint. Snape gave it bottom marks.) 

By the time they were halfway through that first batch of potions, Beth was astonished to realize that it was nine o'clock at night. She put aside another terrible job, cured the toad by wand, bid Snape good night, promised to return the following evening, and made her way to the common room. 

Beth felt pretty good about her first day's work. She hadn't done anything irrevocably wrong; she was nowhere near as quick as Snape at analyzing the first-years' potions, but she hadn't expected to be. Once or twice she had even recalled a principle from Alchemy as it was called into practice. Maybe, she thought light-heartedly, she wouldn't do too bad after all. 

She found Melissa, Mervin and Bruce clustered around a desk in the common room, copying each others' Charms homework. The essay they had been assigned, it was agreed, was entirely too long for so early in the year, and had obviously been meant as a group assignment. Beth told them about her new job (leaving out the technical details), and cheerfully joined them in developing creative synonyms for each others' work. 

After nearly two hours of this, Beth finished rewording a paragraph of Mervin's about wand-motion theory and tossed aside her quill. 

She yawned and stretched. "Common room's awfully full tonight." 

"Is it?" Melissa glanced up without stopping writing. "I suppose you're right... Oh," she said suddenly, and put down her quill. She let out a little laugh. 

Bruce shot a glance at her. "What's so funny?" 

"It's just what Beth said," Melissa said, and her smile was a little sad. "Only, look who's here." 

All three of them raised their heads and took a good look around. Across the room, Blaise and Morag were poised over opposite pages of a massive O.W.L.s prep book, sniping at each other contentedly and jostling for space. Audra watched coolly from amid a massive winged armchair while Mervin obtained a sound beating courtesy of Evan's skills at chess. Across the room, Oren sat alone, completely surrounded by Alchemy books and working furiously. Herne was sprawled on his stomach in front of the fire, flipping through a book about Quodpot and occasionally flicking a loose gobstone towards Evan and Mervin's chess game and receiving some very nasty looks in return. 

The ten of them had the common room to themselves. 

"Heh," said Bruce, with a lopsided grin. "It's Thursday." 

"Old habits die hard," said Melissa. 

Beth grinned. "I'll bet wherever he is, Richard's getting restless about now," she said. 

She went back to her homework, but the silence that fell after her statement was so profound that she looked up again. Bruce and Melissa were both staring at her. Melissa looked positively stricken. Suddenly Beth realized what she'd said. 

"Uh - didn't we always say he'd come back haunt the Vase Room?" she said, trying to make a feeble joke out of it. 

Bruce's mouth thinned. 

Beth looked down at her book. Her stomach felt weak, suddenly, at the awareness of her gaffe. Quietly she gathered her things. 

"I'm going to bed." 

Neither of the others made to stop her. Beth changed in the dark, careful not to awaken Antigone, and lay on top of the covers for a while, staring at the canopy that stretched above her. 

A slip of the tongue like that could very well give up Richard's secret. Discovery would not only lose his advantage against the Dark Lord and endanger the Ledger; it would kill him. _I have to be more careful,_ Beth thought, closing her fingers around the ring from Richard's mother which still hung around her neck. Care had never been more important. 

At last she crawled under the covers and tried to sleep; but she noticed that it was a long time before Melissa came to bed. 

-'-'-

No one mentioned her slip of the tongue the next day, for which Beth was deeply grateful; they must have forgotten it overnight. In any case, breakfast conversation was more or less typical: complaining about classes and comments on the weather, interspersed with incoherent grunts from the still-weary and occasional laughter over a letter or package from home. 

Friday couldn't have come soon enough. It was a struggle just to get through Charms, and when Professor Vector made them spend the last thirty minutes of class on a set of odious calculations, Beth could hardly keep her eyes on her work. Just a few more classes and some time working for Snape, and she was free again - well, she amended, as free as it was possible to get in a school where you had a dress code and curfews. Not even to mention the chance of being spied upon by a recently-resurrected evil overlord. 

She forced herself to focus back on her work. _The summation of a series of numbers, n in quantity and represented by the figure k+3 where n varies from zero to infinity..._ Beth reached for her abacus, barely paying attention, and deftly knocked it off her desk. 

The whole class looked up at the clatter it made; Beth pulled a trademark blush and retrieved it quickly. When everyone had done their sniggering and gone back to work, she turned back to her own parchment ... and paused. 

The words of her textbook had melted together. 

Beth gaped down at the dripping page, then around at the classroom. No one else seemed to have the same problem, and no one - including the Gryffindors, at whom Beth had looked immediately - seemed to be watching her for a reaction. She looked back down. 

The ink from the page was struggling to separate, pooling into pockets and stretching painfully into spindly letters. Beth watched, fascinated, for a full minute while the droplets painstakingly rearranged themselves. When the ink stopped moving, six vast, dripping words were left on the page of her book. 

THERE ARE NO NEW INDUCTEES.   
WHY?

It took her a moment to realize what the words meant. The Society had inducted no new members that year... 

...but who would know that except those who knew why? 

The bell rang to end class, and Beth nearly jumped out of her chair. The mysterious words shattered and tiny drops of ink skittered back into formation. Soon the book was completely back to normal. Nearly unable to believe it had ever happened, Beth flipped a few pages in either direction. The words were gone. 

Mervin paused by her desk. "Are you coming to lunch, or is this stuff just too darn interesting?" 

"Coming," said Beth vaguely. She turned down the corner of the page to mark it, then packed up and left with Mervin for the Great Hall. She would have to tell Melissa, there was no doubt about that ... but she wanted to think it over first. 

-'-'-

Saturday dawned bright and clear; it was easily the nicest day since the start of the school year. Beth awoke late and in a very good mood. It felt like the school week had lasted forever. At this point, she was very ready for a day off. 

By the time she got to breakfast, most of the class was already there, some even leaving. The mail owls had come and gone; students up and down the table shared letters from home or scanned the Daily Prophet over their cornflakes. 

Beth found Melissa near some of the fifth-years, sharing a newspaper along the usual lines (the society section for Melissa, sports for Morag, news for Blaise, the funny pages for Warrington). She plunked down among them and took her own traditional section - potions and industry - and settled in with a bagel. 

Across the table, Blaise let out a wail and covered her face. 

Morag leaned over and tugged the Daily Prophet out from under her. His broad speckled face creased into a smile. 

"'Tis an article aboot Donaghan Trewlett," he reported, "whae dirls tha bass for The Weird Sisters. He's jumped tha broom with his bonny lass." 

"Meaning what?" said Beth suspiciously. 

"He's gaed and married." 

Blaise let out a little moan. 

"Oh Blaise, I'm so sorry," said Melissa, leaning across to pat her hand. "You do still have that handkerchief of his, from the Yule Ball, don't you?" 

Blaise nodded mutely. 

Mervin staggered up just then, clutching the side of his head. Half his face was black and blue; there were chalky white flecks scattered among his red hair. 

"Peeves," he gasped, sinking into a chair. "Bust of Paracelsus... Wow," he said, staring directly at Warrington, "I think I'm seeing stars." 

Beth couldn't help but smile as Morag and Warrington helped him to the infirmary. Some things were never going to change. 

Morag, who still had the newspaper stretched out before him, let out a low whistle. "Hae a keek a' this," he said to Melissa, passing her the newspaper. 

Melissa took it questioningly and read the article that Morag indicated. 

She frowned and lay the paper onto the table so that Beth and Blaise - who had morosely raised her head - could also see it. "Someone tried to break into the Ministry," she told them in a whisper. "He wouldn't defend himself in court." 

Both girls read the article (Beth upside-down). It was very short and gave precious little information; even the exact nature of his crime was concealed in the wording. 

"Is he a - you know?" asked Melissa anxiously. 

"Don't know," said Beth. "There's no description, and anyway it's hard to tell who's under those masks." She looked closer at the article. It was entirely possible that Sturgis Podmore had been at the meeting at the end of August. Why else would anyone try to break into the Ministry these days? His refusal to speak for himself only backed it up. Dozens of people had gone to Azkaban rather than betray their terrible master. 

"Then he's starting to act," Blaise sighed, sitting back in her seat, white-faced. "Draco's been hinting at it all year - no details, of course, he's insufferable..." 

Blaise was correct: the Dark Lord was beginning to put his plans, whatever they may be, into play. How long until he called on "his reserve, his elite"? And how long until he made some move that directly affected them all? 

The sun shone cheerfully, but the day seemed darker. 


	10. The Trials of the Century

**Chapter Ten: The Trials of the Century**

Beth spent the morning working with Bruce on Herbology. She had always been a little derisive of Herbology as a subject - it was hard for her to respect people who played in the dirt all day - but now she wished she had never dropped the subject. (Or, she groaned privately, ever tried to take it back up again.) Fortunately, Bruce was willing to help her through most of it, as practice for himself, and tolerated her stupid questions with impressive patience.

"So - a pine tree is - what, deciduous?"

"_Coniferous,_ Beth. Pine cones, you know?"

"Oh. Right."

Bruce leaned back in his chair and regarded her curiously. "I can't believe you're so bad at this."

She cast him a dirty look. "Love you too, Bruce."

"I mean it." Bruce folded his hands behind his head. "You're not stupid. It's not that hard. My gosh - this is Longbottom's best subject."

"Bully for Longbottom," grumbled Beth.

"Well, you'll improve," said Bruce mildly, packing up his things. "Come on - it's time for the Quidditch trials. We can start over in the evening."

"If we have to," said Beth wryly.

They headed down to the Quidditch pitch as Montague had ordered. A number of Slytherins, many clutching broomsticks, already milled around the stands or lounged on the grass below. One of the smaller figures waved at their approach. There stood Melissa - and she was holding a broomstick.

Bruce's jaw dropped. "What are you doing with that thing?"

Melissa raised her chin dangerously. "I told you last year I was going to try out."

"And we told you last year you were nuts," said Bruce, but he looked impressed nevertheless. "What're you riding?" He bent over to examine the handle of her broomstick.

Melissa glanced away, blushing.

Bruce straightened up, looking almost scandalized. "A Twigger 90? You let them get you a _Twigger_?"

"What's wrong with a Twigger 90?" Beth broke in.

Bruce stared at her. "What's _wrong_ with them? There's a reason we call them White Elephant Idiot Brooms. They've got all these features but you take them over a hundred ten and they start warping like mad-"

"I couldn't help it," Melissa wailed. "My parents got it for my birthday and they were all pleased they'd gotten me the most expensive broom on the market... I mean they're usually fairly smart, I don't know why..." She covered her face with her hands.

"Well-" Bruce said bracingly, casting little glances at the gleaming broomstick. "They're not that bad, I'm sure it'll be fine for, um, games at this level..."

"You called it a White Elephant Idiot Broom!" Melissa said.

"Yes, well..." Bruce didn't look like he could say any more about it than that. "Well, it shouldn't hurt your try-out, anyway..."

Montague's voice boomed across the field. "Come on, everybody into the stands and off the field!"

As much as Beth would have preferred that Bruce be the Quidditch captain, there was no doubt that Montague had a commanding presence. They stowed their broomsticks under the bleachers and climbed up into the stands to wait.

They were not disappointed. Within minutes the Gryffindor team, looking shabby in their practice jerseys, came onto the field amid a torrent of whistling and jeering from their rivals in the stands. They rose into a circle for some kind of passing exercise.

"Interesting choice for Keeper," Bruce muttered, leaning forward.

The youngest Weasley boy flew among the team; as he was the only new member, it was clear that he had been taken on to replace Oliver Wood. Beth thought privately that Bruce shouldn't be too worried about competition from his new counterpart.

The Gryffindors commenced with a noble and doomed attempt at a practice. Draco Malfoy had made himself the anti-cheerleader, calling taunts and leading cheers. Montague, on the other hand, remained perfectly silent. He sprawled back on the bleachers, watching the Gryffindors play, a smile on his lips.

The little Weasley was terrible. He fumbled the Quaffle, missed easy goals and slid all over his broomstick - finally he lobbed the Quaffle into Spinnet's nose, which began gushing blood to the cheers of the Slytherins. It wasn't too long afterward that Johnson, casting a dirty glance at the stands, packed up her team and left. (Spinnet, bleeding like a spigot, went Pomfreyward with the Weasley twins.)

When the last of them had abandoned the pitch, Montague stood up and stretched languorously. He sauntered down the stands and took up a position at the front. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked over the assembled triers-out and hangers-on. Finally, when he had their full attention, he spoke.

"Now that we've had a chance to see what we're up against-" He paused to let the crowd react. "-it looks like we're going to have a damn good season!"

The crowd laughed.

"Seeker first, same format as always. Hurry on down, anyone not on the pitch in two minutes is out of the running."

Draco easily defended his position, snapping up the Snitch in just a few minutes, many yards ahead of the next contender. He did all right, Beth thought, so long as Potter wasn't on the field with him. The little bugger definitely brought out the worst in him.

Likewise, it didn't take long for Bruce to prove himself as the best Keeper in Slytherin house. His experience alone should have been enough to land him the spot; he clinched it with a few impressive saves during his try-out. Montague was looking extremely pleased with himself as he announced Bruce's position.

"You're better than I remembered, Bletchley!" he boomed heartily. "So long as you remember to turn up for the matches!"

Bruce's smile became fixed.

The Beater trials, which were always the most interesting because they were essentially an aboveground dodgeball tournament with especially dangerous equipment, turned out to be the most hard-fought. Aaron got a black eye but fortunately didn't break anything, as had happened before. Surprisingly, several of the larger players were taken out before anyone realized what had done it: Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, working in tandem.

The Slytherin Quidditch trials were dog-eat-dog; nobody had ever teamed up before. Crabbe and Goyle were a devastating pair. It was so novel and so exciting to watch them working together that soon everyone in the stands was cheering for the pair of them. A couple of fourth-year brothers eventually tried to play the same tactic, but by then it was too late; Draco's thuggish cronies decimated the competition and took their places on the team to wild applause.

Finally, Montague turned back toward the stands and called, "Chasers! On the field in two minutes, let's go!"

Melissa stood up, her face flushed and excited. Beth nudged her in the knee. "Go get 'em."

"Thanks." Flashing a half-confident, half-terrified smile, she hurried down the stands, picked up her broom and dashed to the field with the other contenders.

The Chaser competitors filed past Montague, who stood with his hands on his hips, watching them like a cattleman before his herd. He noticed Melissa, raised an eyebrow, and stepped in front of her path.

"Who are you?"

Melissa stopped in front of him. Seeing the two of them together suddenly underscored Melissa's minimal height and build. Montague was two years younger but must have been a foot taller; it was possible that he weighed twice as much.

"Your senior prefect," said Melissa, eyes flashing. "Melissa Ollivander."

Montague looked her over. "You're sort of tiny, Oglethorpe."

"Ollivander," said Melissa irritably. "You want to see how I can fly or not?"

"Suit yourself," said Montague carelessly, still with an appraising eye. "Get up there, Osgood."

"_Ollivander!_ Like your wand!"

Montague gave her a lazy grin. "Me? I've got a Gregorovich."

Glaring at him, Melissa hurried to the field and zoomed into the air.

Montague tested the Chasers much like his predecessor, Marcus Flint: there were a few passing exercises, a few races, finally coming to a shooting match. Montague made no notes, but he seemed to be able to keep record of everyone's performance. He regularly flew into the group to oust an aspiring player. In five minutes he had eliminated half of the contestants - and, oddly, Beth had to agree with the choices he made.

It was exciting to see Melissa make it that far in the proceedings. She wasn't the best flyer that Slytherin had ever produced, but Beth had seen worse (after that morning's Gryffindor practice, _much_ worse). She had actually expected Melissa to be eliminated straight off. She _was_ the only girl trying out...

Her heart sank. Montague rose up into the midst of Melissa's passing circle and thumbed her out.

Melissa wouldn't go immediately; the two hung in the air for a while, exchanging words that Beth couldn't hear from her place in the stands, as well as some interesting hand gestures. Finally, Melissa sank to the ground, grabbed her broomstick by the shaft, and stalked back toward the castle after the other failed contestants.

Beth hesitated for a moment, wondering whether she should follow Melissa or leave her alone to stew, but finally her curiosity got the better of her and she descended the stands to see what had happened.

Judging by the muddy footprints, Melissa had gone to the common room and flopped straight onto the sofa; in fact, the handle of her Twigger 90 poked out from beneath it. Melissa herself was flat on her back, scowling at the ceiling.

"That twit," she said, before Beth could even ask. "He says I'm too small for the team. I told you they'd never let a girl play for Slytherin - all he wants is thugs to foul out the other team - the utter moron! That's the strategy that lost us the Cup."

Beth had expected something similar. She sat down on the floor beside the couch. "His loss."

"Too right," said Melissa, some pride mixed with her tone of disgust. "I was kicking the pants off of half the underclassmen."

Beth wasn't sure Melissa's playing had been quite that superior, but she was willing to concede that Melissa should have lasted longer.

"He was going to axe me from the beginning," Melissa went on, with dead angry certainty. "I mean - it was so pathetically obvious. He only let me try out to cover his back. So he could say I wasn't up to scratch, but at least he'd given me a chance." She looked like she wanted to spit. "Some chance!"

The doors to the common room opened and students flooded inside; clearly, the Quidditch trials were over. Melissa sat up, looking over the entrants as if expecting some of them to be wearing the team jerseys already.

Aaron Pucey spotted them and came over, mopping his face with a towel. He had a bruise on the side of his head and his black eye was growing darker. That was no surprise - Aaron wasn't a bad player, but he hurt himself practically every time he got on a broom.

"Well?" said Melissa, with painfully bad grace.

"Chasers are me and Warrington," he said, almost bashfully. "And of course Montague. You shouldn't feel bad, Mel-" he added, with just a hint of condescension, "up against all those veterans..."

"Veterans?" Melissa's expression was positively venomous. "Half a dozen decent flyers out there, Pucey, and the position was given to someone who can barely hang on to his broom!"

Aaron stopped, thunderstruck. His whole bearing hardened like ice freezing across the surface of a lake.

Melissa seemed to realize how deeply she had cut him. "I - I mean-"

"Oh, I know what you meant," said Aaron savagely, now blossoming red from ear to ear. "You meant to say you should've got it because you're smarter. Well maybe, Ollivander, I'm actually better at something than you!"

"I doubt that," Melissa snapped back, "seeing as the only one who thinks so is that idiot Montague."

Aaron looked like he had been hit. "So now anyone who believes in me is an _idiot_?"

"Well, I hate to mince words, but _yes_."

"Fine." Aaron hurled his towel to the floor. "Good thing you didn't make the team. I don't think I could _stand_ flying with you."

"Likewise," Melissa sneered.

And, for the second time that day, Melissa stalked away.

-'-'-

This time Beth gave her friend a little time to cool off before going to hunt her down. She found Melissa in the half-empty library, hunched ferociously over her N.E.W.T.s primer. She hesitated, not wanting to get hit with the loose end of a quarrel, but then went and sat down across from Melissa anyway. What were best friends for, if not to accept and forgive undeserved blows?

Melissa spoke without looking up from her papers. "I suppose Aaron is still gloating over his victory."

"No," said Beth, pulling out her books. "He still looks mad, though."

"Good," said Melissa coldly.

Well, at least there would be no more yelling that day. Beth was willing to accept an uneasy peace in place of war. She dug out her Arithmancy book and opened it to the previous day's section.

At the sight of the page, the memory hit her like a bolt of lightning. The ownerless message that had appeared in class! In the drama surrounding the Quidditch trials, she had completely forgotten about the strange note.

"Oh Mel, that reminds me, I almost forgot to tell you!"

Quickly she described the message that had appeared in her textbook. Melissa's eyebrows furrowed in an expression of both suspicion and fear.

"And you didn't see anyone casting it?" she said slowly.

"No one. I looked up right away. Someone should have been watching for a reaction, if it was just a prank."

Melissa thought for a minute. "Well, who's in your class?"

"Stebbins," said Beth, ticking off names on her fingers. "Davies. Mervin. Towler. Sarah Fawcett. Johnson. Carmichael. Me. Professor Vector. Some Ravenclaw kid who studied over the summer and got bumped up a year. A couple of others I don't know."

"Not much of a rogue's gallery," Melissa commented, in a disgruntled tone. "Except Mervin, of course, but he's not a suspect."

They looked at each other.

"No, he's not a suspect," Melissa said again, shaking her head. "He knows perfectly well why there are no inductees - assuming he actually _read_ that note I sent him."

Beth thought too that Mervin could be eliminated as the messenger. There was no point to it ... and if they couldn't trust themselves, it would be each man for himself. That was the worst thing that could happen.

_Well,_ Beth thought grimly, _not the_ worst _thing_...

"Beth!" Melissa's voice was a harsh whisper. Beth looked up anxiously; she followed Melissa's gaze to the N.E.W.T.s primer between them.

The words were changing again.

WHY ARE THERE  
NO MORE MEETINGS?

Beth and Melissa stared at each other.

"How do they know?" whispered Melissa.

"Who _are_ they?" Beth hissed back.

"Riddle was really good at book charms," Melissa muttered, almost to herself.

"He says he can spy..." Beth murmured.

"Hi. Excuse me."

They both looked up. Kiesha Chambers stood over them, looking from one to the other with polite interest.

"Sorry. Hope I'm not interrupting. Have either of you two seen Bruce lately? Bloke promised me a flight round the lake and hasn't paid up."

"I-" Beth looked down at the book. The words had vanished.

"We..." Melissa began slowly, also hazarding a glance at the book. She turned back to Kiesha with obvious relief. "We haven't seen him since the trials this morning. I'm sorry. I hope you catch him."

"Me too," said Kiesha, with good humor. "Well, thanks anyway."

"Good luck," Melissa called after her. She turned back to Beth with a wide-eyed, haggard look. "We can't let this go on."

Beth glanced down at the N.E.W.T.s primer, now perfectly normal, lying motionless on the library table with all its words firmly in place.

"I'm not sure we have a choice."

-'-'-

There were no strange messages on Sunday, apart from a hilarious love note that someone intercepted between Warrington and Antigone. Beth and Melissa spent the day sprawled on the lawn, pretending to study. Melissa got a fabulous tan. Beth, who had to wear long sleeves to cover the Dark Mark on her arm, got a sweaty shirt and a burn on her nose.

When the sun went down they joined Mervin and Bruce in a game of Exploding Snap, which ended in them flicking the cards at one another, covered in ash. They stayed up late, chattering and hogging the space in front of the fire, and went to bed well past midnight.

It had been a lot of fun, Beth reflected in the morning, but that sort of fun has a price. By the time she made it to breakfast, it was nearly over; she bypassed real food in favor of a strong cup of coffee and sat there sipping tiredly, feeling as if the circles under her eyes drooped all the way down to the table.

Suddenly Melissa, who had been reading a letter, let out a gasp. Beth glanced over blearily.

"What's wrong?"

Melissa read the rest of the letter quickly before leaning over to show her. "It's from Vivian," she said, spreading out the letter in front of them. "Dell's been reassigned from Transfiguration Today to the Daily Prophet. He's furious."

Beth swigged back some more coffee. "What do you mean, reassigned?"

"Oh, just read it yourself." Melissa tapped her finger at a line in the letter.

_  
... Ebenezer Nott sent a letter telling Dell that the Dark Lord wanted him to quit his job and move  
to the Daily Prophet, where he'd be more 'useful', whatever that means. He's just furious - he was  
right in line for a promotion and had to give it up and start all over at the bottom of the ladder at  
the Prophet. On top of it the Prophet is losing its reputation... _

It's frightening, Mel. It's like we've lost control of our lives. Dell and I have postponed the  
wedding. Our parents don't understand, and we can't tell them, but we don't want to start something  
at a time when everything is so uncertain...

As she read, Beth found herself coming more and more alert until she finally looked up sharply. "Postponed!"

Melissa nodded grimly.

"But that's crazy!" It didn't make any sense: Dell and Vivian were the closest couple she knew. And yet, knowing what they were facing, and knowing that in the Dark Lord's eyes, affection was the most exploitable weakness of all...

"No, it's not," said Melissa, her voice soft, and Beth nodded agreement. "I'd wondered, when I didn't get an invitation over the summer..." She let out a short sigh. "I guess we all have to change the way we do things."

Beth thought about Richard and let out a sigh of her own.

The bell interrupted their ruminations, and they joined the crowd on the way to Charms. Flitwick was the one real N.E.W.T.s cheerleader they had that year; every single lecture turned back to the applicability of the spell and the value of their test scores (which, according to Flitwick, had the power to shape their futures even unto their children's children).

They had been doing Conjurations all week; as Flitwick explained it, the discipline crossed over between Charms and Transfiguration, creating something from thin air. He had been teaching them to conjure small things like marbles and scarves; today he wanted nothing less than a bouquet of flowers apiece. It was an easy incantation but a terribly difficult wand motion; Beth's flowers nearly always came out wilted, when she managed to get them at all.

But today something clicked for them, and by the time the bell rang for break, the Charms classroom looked like a florist's. All the girls had blossoms behind their ears, and Mervin had managed to nestle at least a dozen rose petals into Warrington's hair without being noticed. Flitwick looked quite pleased with their progress. He Banished most of the flowers downstairs, but kept a nice bouquet for his desk.

"Lovely job!" he squeaked. "Just lovely! At this rate you'll all have an 'Exceeds Expectations' for sure!"

They left with the girls chattering excitedly, while the boys tried to pretend they hadn't been so pleased with their success.

"I loved the dandelions," Antigone purred in Warrington's ear, as the Quidditch player turned as pink as the petals still stuck to his hair.

"I did think we did a splendid job," Melissa burbled. "Aaron, those tiger lilies were-"

Aaron pushed past without a glance in her direction.

Melissa's face darkened. "Pathetic," she finished loudly, at his back. He made no sign of hearing her. "Twit," she muttered, and sulked until the next class.

Arithmancy was the usual mind-blowing jumble of calculations and theorems that Beth had come to expect. She left for lunch with twenty homework problems and no idea how to do them. Worse, Mervin had gotten an allergy attack from the pollen left over on his hands from Charms and left for the Infirmary, so she couldn't even beg to borrow his notes. Still, being lost in class was such a familiar feeling by now that it hardly bothered her. She would either figure it out in the end, or they would move on.

She entered the Great Hall in high spirits, despite Arithmancy.

"I got another one," Melissa whispered, when Beth slid into the Slytherin table.

Beth looked at her blankly. "Another what?"

"A message! In my Ancient Runes book!"

Beth's jaw dropped. "What did it say?" she asked quickly.

"At first I couldn't tell, I was reading in Varangian and I thought it was just a property of the runes to move - don't look at me like that, some of them do you know - and then it was a little hard to switch back to English..."

"What did it say?" Beth pressed.

"It said, 'You are avoiding each other.'"

"Wow." Beth sat back in her chair, her mind churning through the implications of the short phrase. "We are. But that means they know who all of us are, not just you and me..."

Melissa nodded. "And it means they've been watching us close enough to know who we're interacting with." She looked highly troubled at the thought. "I wonder if anyone else is getting any messages?"

"We could ask at the meeting - drat," Beth interrupted herself. S.S.A meetings were currently out of the question. "I guess we could ask around, discreetly..."

"If they already know this much," said Melissa grimly, "I doubt that discretion will help."

They broke off the conversation as someone approached; it was Bruce, carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet and looking worried.

"Extra, extra. Read it and weep," said Bruce darkly. He handed over the newspaper.

The front page was crammed with the news: Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Secretary to the Minister, had been appointed to the position of "Hogwarts High Inquisitor" which gave her the power to inspect the other teachers.

"Kiesha showed me the article," Bruce explained. "And I heard the Weasleys griping on the way to lunch; she inspected their class with Flitwick."

"What's the point?" Beth asked, reading the article with furrowed brow. "I mean, what's she going to be inspecting for?"

Bruce shrugged, but Melissa had an answer. "Competence, probably. And," she added, in an offhand way, "to be sure that the teachers aren't saying anything contradictory to Ministry position. Want some strawberries, Beth?"

Beth accepted the bowl of strawberries, still frowning. "And what happens if she doesn't like someone?"

"I expect that they get the sack."

The cool, drawling voice came from behind them. Draco Malfoy had wandered up and was watching them with his hands behind his back.

"Personally, I'm delighted. Things have been haphazard around here for far too long, and with O.W.L.s coming up it's good to see some standardization."

"Yes, it will help our N.E.W.T.s too," Melissa replied pleasantly, switching smoothly into her aristocratic-schmoozing mode that matched Draco's so well.

"Frankly, I think that a classroom inspector is exactly what we need. Think about what's been allowed to teach here in the past few years!"

He ticked them off on his fingers.

"Stuttering idiot with the Dark Lord sticking out of his head. Plagiarist. Werewolf. Imposter and escaped convict. Not to mention that half-giant raising God-knows-what out in the paddock. Who knows what she'll uncover about the rest?"

Despite her uneasiness about Umbridge's abrupt promotion, Beth thought that Draco had a point.

-'-'-

Discreetly or not, over the following day Beth and Melissa managed to corner each of the members alone or in pairs to ask if any of them had been the recipient of any unusual correspondence. Apart from Oren, who had gotten some fan mail for a letter he'd written to the editor of Transfiguration Today, and Mervin, who had received a flyer for Busty Betsy's Breast Enhancement Charms, everyone's mail had been pretty routine. It seemed that the two girls alone were targeted in the strange campaign.

"But why us?" Beth whispered angrily, on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Tuesday. "Why just you and me?"

"That's obvious," Melissa muttered back. "I'm the president and you're the secretary. They're getting at the Society from the top."

Somehow, her words were not a comfort.

They went into D.A.D.A., took their usual seats, and endured the now-standard singsong liturgy:

"Good morning, class!"

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge!"

"Wands away, please. You will be reading chapter three of Slinkhard's book. There will be no need to talk."

There was no need to read, either. Umbridge had given no indication that they would be tested on the dubious opinions of Wilbert Slinkhard. Carefully, making sure that Umbridge wasn't watching, Beth left the Slinkhard book in her knapsack and pulled out her N.E.W.T.s primer.

"Now, class," said Professor Umbridge, when the books had stopped rustling, "I do think that we have gotten to trust one another over these past few days, and you have always been such good little boys and girls in class!"

Melissa looked insulted at the unexpected declaration; Aaron Pucey, who had never been a good little boy in any class, looked strictly baffled.

"I must leave you to fulfill my role as Hogwarts High Inquisitor," she went on. "Although I know that I can count on you to be excellent little students in my absence, I would be simply remiss if I left you all alone!" She laughed, although no one knew why. "I'll just be leaving something behind to keep an eye on you. Now, I want you all to pretend as if this is me, and go about your work as you would..."

She opened a desk drawer and extracted something.

"Here we are."

Onto the top of her desk she placed a colorful, porcelain garden gnome.

The gnome had a shiny red cap and stiff white beard, all rigid and stone. The large green eyes, however, blinked once, and began to rove from this way to that, continuously surveying the room in much the same way that Umbridge did.

Mervin muffled a gasp of utter horror.

"Don't forget, chapter three!" Umbridge sang out, gathering her things and starting for the door. "Remember - I will be watching!"

She left and shut the door behind her.

For a moment everyone just sat there, watching the gnome roam its weird glassy eyes from one side to the other. Beth wondered (her eyes following the path of the gnome's) whether the creepy object was recording what it saw or actually beaming it back to Umbridge like an exceptionally ugly security camera. While she was doing her inspection, was Umbridge simultaneously keeping her eye on them...?

Without warning, the ceramic gnome rocked back on its little flat feet and shattered.

A loose gobstone spun off of the desk and landed on the floor, where it spun noisily amid tiny shards of porcelain and finally grew still.

Aaron Pucey got up, went forward, and claimed his gobstone. He looked over the gnome. Its face had been demolished; anything recorded in those enormous glassy eyes would have been shot to pieces.

"Right between the eyes," he remarked with satisfaction. "Too bad I can't brag about it."

Even Melissa had to agree that it had been a fine shot, and that it was a great shame indeed that the wind had swept in unexpectedly and tipped over that precious little gnome.

With the gnome gone, it was business as usual. Aaron and Warrington got out the rest of their gobstones and set up a ring in the back of the room; Antigone, draped over Warrington's shoulder, offered no help or encouragement whatsoever. Bruce spent a few minutes wrapping up some Transfiguration homework and then went to watch them. Mervin fell asleep, drool puddling onto his Slinkhard textbook. Melissa, never one to miss out on an opportunity, went on with her N.E.W.T.s primer; and it was under her stern glare that Beth did the same.

She spent a few pages on the Arithmancy section, which was fun but unchallenging, and then decided that she would do better to work on one of her weak sections. She flipped through the primer. Potions, no problem there ... Muggle Studies, as if that was going to be difficult to pass ... Herbology.

Drat.

With a sigh, she flipped open the book and got to work.

It was appallingly difficult. No, Beth decided, difficult wasn't the word; there was little reasoning involved, just memorization. Unfortunately most of the questions covered things that she hadn't memorized. It was going to be a long haul.

She ran through the page, marking off the questions she knew and circling the ones she didn't. By the end of the page, the circles had won by a margin of two to one. Sighing, she flipped to the next page.

It was blank.

She was all ready to move on when she saw something twist in the center of the page. _Oh no,_ she thought, dread filling her chest. She watched as tendrils of ink curled from the very center of the paper and stretched into the words:

HOW DID  
RICHARD SHAW  
DIE?

Beth slammed the book shut, her heart suddenly pounding. They knew Rich was involved ... and they knew that there had been something suspicious about his "death." That meant they knew too much.

"Cripes, Beth," said Aaron mildly, from the back of the room, "I know the primer's hard, but get a grip."

Beth flushed red. She glanced back at Aaron and managed a casual grin. "I really hate this stuff," she stammered, by way of explanation. Turning back, she opened the book again; but the page, as always, was back to normal. Although Beth kept a close watch, the words in the primer stayed firmly in place.

After the bell rang for lunch, Melissa fell into easy step beside her and steered her toward an empty part of the Slytherin table.

"It happened again, didn't it?"

"Yeah." Beth took a sandwich from the platter that sprung up between them. She looked it over, not feeling hungry, and finally dropped it to her plate in despair. "Mel, there was no one else in that room but Slytherins. Is it one of us, is someone doing it from a distance, was the book charmed ahead of time?" She broke off and shook her head helplessly, suddenly overwhelmed by the strange, dangerous position they were in. "What are we going to do?"

Melissa's lips thinned. She looked as if she was thinking hard. Finally she said, "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to find Bruce and Mervin and have a little group study time in the library after dinner. If they're after all of us..." Her eyes narrowed. "They're going to get us."

-'-'-

The September evening was cool and bright; few students had chosen to spend it in the gloomy, stale-aired library. The seventh-year S.S.A. members gathered at their usual corner in the back. They had all brought textbooks, but they lay open at random; the four faces around the table, furtive and worried, never glanced at them.

It didn't take long to explain the situation to Bruce and Mervin. Just describing it, in fact, brought back to Beth the sense of dread that she had felt upon seeing that first dangerously good question. By the boys' expressions, they too saw the implied danger.

"All they do is ask questions," Melissa said thoughtfully, tapping her fingers in agitation. "They never wait for the answers."

"And they ask about things they shouldn't know," Beth said. "How would they know that we don't have meetings anymore? How would they know that Richard was involved?"

Bruce looked over at her, surprised.

Beth blushed. "They asked me how Rich died," she admitted. The words sounded strange to say.

Melissa's eyes narrowed. "How dare they!" She frowned around at the library for a moment, as if hoping to find the offender so she could give him a piece of her mind. "We cannot let this go on," she said at last. "We have to find them."

"I don't think we're going to have to go looking for them," Bruce said suddenly.

They all looked over at him, then down at the book which was open before him. Spread across the pages was one more message:

ENTRANCE HALL  
MIDNIGHT

They stared at it in dumb silence.

"It's a trap," said Mervin at last. "We can't risk going."

"But-" Beth started, and she saw hesitation in Melissa's eyes as well. What if the messages were from Dumbledore, aware of their potentially constant surveillance? Or what if they were from the Dark Lord, suspicious that they were defying him? Could they really risk not going?

Melissa let out a sigh. As president, the decision rested with her; Beth felt sure that she was feeling the same pressure that had so strained Richard during his own term of office. "We'd better at least go see who it is," she said at last. "Just the four of us. I'm going to tell Blaise where we're going. Just in case."

She glanced around at them, her eyes serious.

"Bring your wands. And be ready to use them."

... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
Busty Betsy's Breast Enhancement Charms are copyright Poppy P, as seen in her very enjoyable fanfic Padma's Quest, and I love the idea so much that this is the second time I've swiped it. See my Favorite Stories list for the link.


	11. The Guild of the Eagle

**Chapter Eleven: The Guild of the Eagle**

Midnight.

Cold moonlight on a cold floor.

The walls of the Entrance Hall flickered with shadow. Four seventh-year Slytherins stood pressed against the walls, displaying the pattern of stones on their chests, courtesy of Mervin's Disillusionment charm.

The hall was utterly silent. Beth could hear her own heart pounding in her ears; her own breathing seemed to be magnified so that she was aware of every rise and fall of her lungs. Beside her, Melissa crouched in the shadows, alert and tense. Where would the messenger come from? How would they arrive? Perhaps most importantly - when that door opened or that shadow crossed the floor, whom would they see?

They heard the unmistakable squeak of an opening door.

Beth tensed and backed farther against the wall. She couldn't tell where it had come from. Teacher, student, intruder? Friend or foe?

A soft scuffle of footsteps. Now their direction became clear: someone or something was coming down the Great Hall towards the Entrance Hall. Their cadence was measured, swift but unhurried, consistent and confident. Not the bandy-legged shuffle of Mr. Filch, Beth thought. At least that was something...

The door to the Great Hall opened and a hooded figure slipped through the crack.

Beth's heart pounded in her chest. Middle height, she saw, taking comfort from the act of noting details; slender, gender uncertain, dark hands clutching the black cloak, a vivacious, athletic walk, face still shadowed beneath its hood...

The figure stepped into the Entrance Hall, paused to glance around the walls, and started directly towards them.

Now that they had been seen, there was no use in hiding. Carefully, Melissa stepped forward, the others close behind. Beth felt a warm sensation sliding over her head as Mervin broke the Disillusionment charm.

The figure paused several yards from them and put its hands on its hips.

"Four of you, are there?"

The hood was pulled back to reveal the smiling brown face and frizzy hair of Kiesha Chambers.

Bruce gaped. "You-" he began, but his girlfriend crossed the room quickly and shushed him.

"Save the interrogation, we've got to get you into the tower before somebody spots us."

She took Bruce by the elbow and dragged him to the middle of the Entrance Hall. Bending down, she tapped the floor once with her wand, in the very center of the inlaid stone design. She stood and pointed down at the hub.

"After you, love."

Bruce took a careful look at her face; then, sighing, he stepped onto the stone.

There was a strong sucking sound. Bruce vanished.

"Next up!" said Kiesha cheerily.

Beth glanced at Melissa and Mervin, both looking as pale as she felt, and reluctantly stepped forward.

"Hands to your sides, then," Kiesha instructed. "There you are!"

Beth walked onto the stone inlay. As soon as her feet were both solidly within its borders, she felt a horrible tug at the top of her head, as if someone had grabbed her by the hair. This was followed by a strange upward pulling all around the skin of her face, and a whoosh from below her feet - then something took hold and she shot upward like a cork, slid through an immaterial ceiling, popped through a floor, lost her momentum and landed on her rump on a stretch of polished hardwood.

Something gripped her arm: Bruce, pulling her to her feet. "Out of the way," he murmured, "the rest'll be coming through."

As Beth watched, first Melissa, then Mervin, then finally Kiesha erupted from the floor and came back down; only the Ravenclaw landed on her feet. With the four of them together again, Beth at last raised her head and took a look around.

_For a hidden chamber_, Beth thought, unexpectedly nervous, _this place sure is crowded._

At least half a dozen students were seated around the room; there were tables of the same kind they had in the library, individual desks and lavish armchairs everywhere. The ceiling was hung with unsupported chandeliers, filled with warm yellow candles. Most prominent, however, were the bookshelves lining the elegant room - not just every few feet, but from floor to ceiling on all four walls. Every one was stuffed with books.

"Come in," came a clipped, impatient girl's voice.

The cluster of them moved farther into the room. At one end stood a large, impressive wooden desk - much like the ones the teachers used, but more ornate, and the wood shone warmly. Behind it sat a very severe-faced girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen; her blonde hair was pulled tightly away from her sharp features. She had a tall, athletic sort of build, but it was all at angles: a graceless, wiry strength.

The severe-looking girl cast a sharp glance at Kiesha. "Only four?"

Kiesha was unintimidated. "Only four, cap'n," she said, dislodging from the collection of Slytherins to flop into a high-backed chair.

"Very well," said the blonde girl, pursing her lips. She looked back to the Slytherins. "I assume you know who we are?"

Beth, for one, didn't have the foggiest idea, but Melissa spoke up. "You're the Ravenclaws, the secret society. Dumbledore told us about you."

At that, the blonde girl's mouth twitched into a very slight grin. "We are called the Guild of the Eagle. My name is Deirdre Nye. I serve as the Chairwoman."

"Wait," said Bruce, shaking his head irritably. "Chairwoman? The Guild of the Eagle? Are all of you in Ravenclaw?" He cast a reproachful glance at Kiesha, who blew him a kiss. "Who _are_ you?"

"Corner, the Charter," said Deirdre.

A dark-haired boy got up from his armchair and went to one of the walls of shelves, where he withdrew a long, polished wooden box. He took it to the desk and set it down in front of the Chairwoman.

"You're welcome," he said to Deirdre, who was absorbed in carefully opening the box.

"Of course I am," said Deirdre distractedly. She reached into the box, ignoring Corner's huffy retreat, and extracted an ancient yellow scroll. It was easily twice as thick as her forearm. The handles were smooth wood with intricate gold inlays; the parchment looked thick and fibrous, with tiny cracks creeping in from the very edge.

Deirdre opened the scroll and spread it out before her on the desk. Beth expected her to read from it; instead, the blonde girl took out her wand and tapped it thrice, in the pattern of a triangle. "Lights," she said sharply, and the room was plunged in darkness.

Beth tensed. She heard Melissa clutch Bruce's arm behind her and suspected, from the sounds, that Mervin had done the same thing on Bruce's other side. Her hand went for her wand ... but before she could grasp it, the darkness was shattered with a column of bluish light that burst from the open scroll and shot upward to the ceiling.

In the center of the column sprung up the small figure of a woman, doll-sized, hardly more than a shadow. Her robes were strangely fashioned; her dark hair was long and unfettered. Rotating amid the light, she opened her mouth and a strong voice, low and assured, filled the room.

"_To learn, to watch; to know, to plan; for wit and word, wiles and wonder; thus do I, Rowena Ravenclaw, charge this Guild always to seek knowledge, and to put it to its best end._"

The words made a strange echo effect in Beth's ears. She listened closely; there seemed to be a second line of speech under the first.

"It's been translated," Melissa murmured in her ear. "A thousand years ago, of course she wouldn't speak modern English..."

The shadow of Rowena made a strange, ancient curtsey - far from being formal, there was a wildness in it that spoke of gnarled trees and empty moors. Then she raised a tiny wand and swept it upwards gracefully. The column of light, and the woman along with it, vanished.

"Lights."

The chandeliers flared to life. Deirdre rolled up the scroll and deposited it in its holder. "Corner, if you please."

Sighing, the dark-haired boy got up again and returned the box to its shelf.

"I never get tired of it," Kiesha was saying to the girl beside her.

"She's so pretty," the girl agreed, pushing a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear. Beth realized that she had seen her before: Cho Chang, Kiesha's teammate, the Ravenclaw Seeker. Cho glanced over at the clustered Slytherins and met Beth's eyes. There was a kind of sympathetic kinship in her face. Beth realized with a start that she had been dating Cedric Diggory at the time of his death ... if word had indeed gotten around about Richard, then Cho must think that the two of them were in the same position. She felt a sudden, painfully strong realization of what Cho had lost.

When Corner returned to his seat, Deirdre lifted a gavel from her desk and rapped once for order. "Have a seat," she ordered the Slytherins, and they dutifully complied: Beth and Melissa took a pair of leather seats, Mervin perched on a nearby end table, and Bruce was cheerfully yanked onto the arm of Kiesha's chair.

"Order," said Deirdre crisply. "For those of you who haven't guessed, and if you haven't I would heavily question your worthiness of membership, our guests tonight are representing the Society for Slytherin Advancement. The Headmaster mentioned to us that you might need our help," she said, nodding to Melissa, "and everything this year has indicated that he was right."

Melissa hesitated.

It was Bruce who finally spoke up. "Yes," he said firmly. "We were founded by the Dark Lord. He considers the organization his own. Now he's returned, and he wants us back."

The Ravenclaws were very quiet. Dumbledore, it seemed, hadn't warned them exactly what kind of trouble the Society might be in. Beth wondered if he knew.

Deirdre leaned forward. "So you believe Dumbledore."

Melissa opened her mouth to say something; then she closed it and cast a guilty look at Beth. "You-Know-Who is back," she said. "Trust us."

"Well." Deirdre sat back. "I must say, that answers most of our questions straight off."

"No meetings," a boy spoke up thoughtfully. He wore a prefects' badge and had a rather pronounced nose. "No new members."

"How did you know about the inductees?" Melissa countered quickly.

Deirdre looked down her nose imperiously. "We monitor the potato-distribution ceremony very closely," she said. "It allows us to identify you from the first day. But you've been very careful," Deirdre went on, watching them closely. "So much so, in fact, that we suspected that you knew that we were spying on you. Of course, your reaction to the messages proved otherwise. Why, then, were you acting like criminals under surveillance?"

The Society shifted, looked to Melissa. She was silent for a moment, deciding what to tell them, and finally said, "We are being spied on. Even now, we don't know if we're being watched."

Deirdre looked mildly surprised. "From within?"

"No, from the outside."

The Ravenclaw Chair's sharp face relaxed. "Oh. You're not."

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "Believe me, we are."

"No, you can't be. It's simply impossible." Deirdre gestured imperially towards the dark-haired boy. "Hand me the _Hogwarts, A History_, will you, Corner?"

Corner lifted his wand and jabbed it at the bookshelves on the back wall. "_Accio Big Boring Book!_" A massive leather-bound book, nearly as thick as it was tall, wriggled out of the shelves and zoomed into his chest, nearly knocking him backward off the chair. He lugged it over to Deirdre and dropped it on the desk with a thud.

"Obliged," said Deirdre crisply, already flipping to the index. "I expect it would be in the chapter about protective spells, but let's narrow it down ... page eight-seventy-four, here we are..."

She cleared her throat.

"'Like all magically constructed fortresses of the era, Hogwarts Castle was thoroughly protected from intrusion of all sorts, both physically and of the senses. No form of spycraft can penetrate the magical barriers surrounding the castle and grounds; enemies cannot peer inside or listen into the affairs of its denizens any more than they may enter. Only a direct mental communion is strong enough to pass through the defenses.'" She looked up dryly. "It goes on from there. Is that enough?"

It was enough. The Society was stunned, silent.

Beth felt her face grow hot. "He _lied!_" she blurted, torn between fury and helplessness.

Melissa made a noise of disgust. "Well, what would you expect? He wants us in his power."

The Ravenclaws exchanged uncertain glances.

"But if we can - if he can't-" Beth forced herself to swallow the words. If Hogwarts was safe, then all the precaution, all the worry had been wasted. They could have housed Richard in the Vase Room and mounted an attack against the Dark Lord from within these secure walls. If Hogwarts could not be breached ... Richard's elaborate plan had been for nothing.

Then again, the Vase Room had been robbed multiple times the previous year...

It was Bruce who cleared his throat and spoke for the group now. "This makes things different," he admitted. "We need to talk. But I want to know why you've been watching us so closely."

"Oh, we watch everyone," said Kiesha brightly. "Did you know the Hufflepuffs have study parties in the kitchens before big tests? The house-elves cater."

"Do they!" Mervin looked extremely jealous. "Lucky bums!"

"That doesn't answer my question," said Bruce, frowning, and Deirdre raised her eyebrows at his tone. "What do you want from us?"

Deirdre fixed him with a look that Madam Pince would have been proud of. "I beg your pardon?"

"What do you want?" Bruce repeated. "What do you have to gain from helping us? I mean, if it's to impress Dumbledore, fine. If it's just for something to do, fine. I just want to know why you would want to stick your necks out for an organization that has nothing to do with you, made up of people you don't know and don't even like. No offense," he added to Kiesha.

"Sod off," was his girlfriend's loving reply.

Beth expected Deirdre to demur. Instead, the blonde girl settled back in her seat like a judge and looked them all over.

"It's true that we would never have invited you here without Dumbledore's prodding," she said finally, "but our motive is not charity." She fiddled with some things on her desk, then began again. "The Society was designed for action; the Guild, merely information. We learn and examine. We do not apply. And while we have been very successful in keeping track of the many goings-on here at Hogwarts, our inroads with Slytherin have always been the weakest. We have not seen your common room for three hundred years. We do not know why the Baron's ghost wears bloody robes. And in all our centuries of study, we have never found the Chamber of Secrets. Your house has been the most vexing puzzle in the history of the Guild."

She looked up at them. "Surprising, isn't it? I always considered you the most similar to us. Wit and cunning, after all, are two branches of the same tree."

Beth glanced over at Melissa. The dark-haired girl was watching the Ravenclaw chair closely. The two presidents locked gazes for long moments. When Melissa finally spoke, it was in carefully measured words.

"I think our groups can help each other," she said slowly, "and I appreciate the offer. But there are only four of us here, not even half of our Hogwarts membership, and I won't make decisions for the others without hearing their thoughts. We need to talk this over first."

Deirdre inclined her head judiciously. "Very well. Kiesha will continue to be your contact; Bletchley can interact with her without causing any undue suspicion. Our next meeting will be this coming Tuesday. You have one week to decide whether or not you can trust us." She paused thoughtfully. "After all, it took us all summer to decide whether or not we could trust you."

"What made up your minds?" said Melissa warily.

Deirdre shrugged. "We felt lucky."

Well, thought Beth, trust had been extended on shakier grounds than that.

The Ravenclaw Chair made a sweeping gesture across the top of her desk, indicating the many papers and books along its surface. "Thank you very much for coming. Now, we have matters of our own to discuss, and you will no doubt want to speak among yourselves. Kiesha, please reopen the visitors' exit."

Sighing dramatically, Kiesha got up from her armchair and went back to the patch of floor they had entered by, tapping it as she had done below. The wood seemed to quiver slightly before it settled back into place like a disturbed bowl of gelatin.

The Slytherins got up and made their way across the room, fully aware of the eyes of the Ravenclaws on them. At Deirdre's desk, Melissa leaned over to shake the Chair's hand. "Thank you for contacting us."

"Thank you for responding," said Deirdre, with just as much formal care.

Kiesha leaned up and dropped a kiss on Bruce's cheek. "Catch you later, handsome."

Bruce murmured something in her ear; then he stepped onto the floorboards and sank into them like quicksand.

Melissa and Mervin went through the floor in quick succession; Beth shuddered a little at the thought of a drop through the arched ceiling of the Entrance Hall. She had a foot poised above the enchanted spot when Deirdre spoke up once more.

"Parson - before you go."

"Yes?" Beth turned back.

"How _did_ Richard Shaw die?"

There was very little sympathy in her voice; it was more curiosity.

"An accident," said Beth firmly. Before another word could be said, she stepped onto the floorboards and felt them fall out below her, with a strong gust of air to buffer her fall as she landed back in the Entrance Hall.

Friend or foe, that was all that anyone needed to know about Richard.


	12. Inspections and Introspection

**Chapter Twelve: Inspections and Introspection**

Beth wanted to talk about what they had seen and heard in the tower of the Guild of the Eagle, but Melissa sent them all to bed immediately upon their return to the common room. 

"We have done enough for one night," she said, in a frighteningly serious voice. "I will not risk any more on their account." 

However, the very next morning, before they even left the common room to tromp upstairs for breakfast, Melissa pulled them aside and instructed them to act as if nothing had happened. 

"Can we tell the other-" Mervin began, but was shot down instantly. 

"No." 

"They didn't seem so bad," said Bruce, frowning. 

"Of course, you're not at all biased, being that you're dating one," Beth slid in. 

"It's not important what they're like," said Melissa forcefully. "I don't care if the Ravenclaws are the nicest, most useful people on the planet. If the Dark Lord can see us talking to them, it's worse than death. We took a risk last night. It's lucky we were able to get out without a commitment." 

"Don't you think we can trust them?" Mervin began dubiously, but Melissa waved him off again. 

"Right now, whether or not we trust them is secondary. We have every reason to believe that the - that You-Know-Who is able to spy on us, and only their word otherwise. We must continue to act as if he can. If not, we endanger both the Guild and ourselves." 

Something occurred to Beth. "I still need to drop off Richard's ring in the crypt," she remembered aloud. "I'll just sneak out this weekend sometime, and while I'm there I'll check whether or not I can see one of you." 

A sudden upset look crossed Melissa's face. "Are you sure ... you're ready to part with it?" she asked hesitantly. 

"Well, I've got my own-" Beth began irritably, and stopped herself. When would she remember to act like a grieving girlfriend! She tried to put on a solemn face. "I think I am." 

Melissa didn't seem satisfied with that, but it didn't do any good - Bruce declared himself near starvation and went up to breakfast, with Beth and Mervin close behind. 

_You've got to pay attention to what you say!_ Beth chastised herself, on the way upstairs. It had been easy, at the funeral, with Richard so corpselike at the front of the room ... and even for those few days after, with her mind full of his charade. But now having seen him, knowing that he was perfectly all right and camped out in London somewhere, it was difficult to remember that he was supposed to be dead. 

They took their usual place at the breakfast table, among their classmates, focused on the mundanity of meals, classes, teachers and tests. All these people, Beth thought, and so few of them knew what was going on behind the scenes in their own school late at night. 

What was going on behind the scenes that she, Beth, was not aware of? 

Sally Bletchley approached the table, looking perky with a bouncing ponytail, and plopped down beside her brother. "We're out of blueberry syrup, so I'm eating with you," she told him, and proceeded to snatch three pancakes and the pitcher of syrup from under Bruce's nose. 

"Good morning to you too." 

"Professor Umbridge was in our Astronomy class last night," said Sally. She spoke in the easy manner of siblings who had no use for greetings or preambles. "She had Professor Sinistra quite shaken up." 

"Right, the Inquisitor thing. What's she do?" Bruce said, digging into his own flapjacks. "Just stand there watching?" 

"Oh no," said Sally, "she was asking questions and walking around looking at things. She was quizzing us on the constellations. I got mine right," she said proudly, "but it was easy, I had Orion. Euan was supposed to point out Perseus, and he didn't even point to the right quadrant." 

Bruce perked up shrewdly. "Who's Euan?" 

"A boy," said Sally blandly. Quite oblivious to her brother's expression, she went on: "I heard she was in the Divination class that Harry Potter takes. They say it didn't go very well." 

"Everyone knows Trelawney's no Seer," said Beth mercilessly. "It couldn't have taken Umbridge long to figure it out." 

Melissa looked offended. "Pay no attention to the skeptic," she told Sally, who was mowing through her flapjacks in a way that would no doubt make her brother proud. "Divination is a subtle and noble art." 

"Have you ever heard Professor Trelawney give an accurate prediction?" Beth challenged. 

Melissa wavered. "She's made some ... spectral claims..." 

"She told us Mervin was going to die in third year!" 

"I'm sure he will!" Melissa retorted. "Eventually." 

"What did you say this 'Euan' character was like?" said Bruce suspiciously, to Sally. 

"He's quite nice," said Sally, finishing the last of her pancakes with a flourish, "he's my Potions partner. I'd better get back to my table, Bruce. Have a good day!" She kissed him on the cheek and went back to the Gryffindor table. 

Melissa cast a wicked grin towards Bruce, who was still looking slightly disturbed. "You know, she thinks the Weasley twins are 'quite nice' too." 

"Good lord." Bruce was halfway out of his chair before Beth and Melissa, laughing, grabbed his arms and forced him back down. 

-'-'-

The prospect of sneaking out to restore Richard's ring to the Society crypt was an exciting one to Beth; between the oppression of the Dark Lord and that of Umbridge, she had been feeling rebellious for a few weeks now. She relished the risk, almost nostalgically; it was reminiscent of the gold old days of the Society, when daring missions occurred almost monthly. She told her intent to Melissa, who agreed that the task should be done quickly, but added: 

"You can't today, of course." 

Beth eyed her uncertainly. "Why not?" 

Melissa was indignant. "Because it's the first N.E.W.T.s practice session, that's why!" She ruffled her feathers a little. "You _did_ say you would come. And it could only do you good, especially in Herbology." 

She was more correct than Beth cared to admit; therefore, after the Great Hall filled and cleared out again after dinner, she followed Melissa up to the Charms hallway where the first session would take place. 

Unsurprisingly, they were among the first ones (Melissa explained that as a sort of coordinator of the event, and it having been much her own idea, she felt obliged to oversee things; Beth knew she just wanted to see everyone who came in) but the room filled fairly quickly. All of the Hufflepuff seventh-years were there - Beth assumed they had urged each other to attend - as well as many of the Ravenclaws, including a handful of sixth-years there to get a head start. The Gryffindors were less well-represented; and to Melissa's great shame, only Mervin showed up from their own house. 

"You can't be surprised," said Mervin, pulling out a vile green roll of parchment. "Aaron's P.O.'d at you. Warrington follows him, and Antigone follows Warrington." 

"But what about Bruce?" said Melissa, half in despair. 

"Oh, right," said Mervin. "I saw him by the lake with Kiesha Chambers." 

Melissa groaned and sank down into her chair, turning crimson as she went. 

Mercifully, Professor Flitwick entered soon after. "Welcome, welcome!" he squeaked. "So good to see all of you! Let's not waste time now - wands out, let's begin with a warm-up, shall we?" 

Professor Flitwick's warm-up consisted of casting a Calming Charm on their neighbor; which, Beth realized (feeling relaxed and warm), was shrewdly planned to have the dual purpose of settling the class down. Then he took them through some very simple exercises, much like the ones they had done during the O.W.L.s practices two years ago, and had them practice the illusion spell they had been focused on the previous week of class. 

"Mastery of illusion will be quite vital to your Charms N.E.W.T.," Flitwick told them. "This branch of Charms infallibly appears in the practical session, and without it even an 'A' marking will be very difficult to achieve. Therefore I expect that you will-" 

There was a sigh and a soft thud. 

One of the Ravenclaws arched her neck to gaze over her desk at the floor. "Patricia Stimpson, sir," she reported. 

"Oh dear," Flitwick sighed, "I had hoped that _this_ year ... very well, pick her up, someone. Who remembers the 'ennervate' charm? Very good, thank you, Davies ... whoever cast her Calming Charm should brush up before the test, eh? Moving on..." 

By the end of the session, Beth's head reeled with the many spells they had rehearsed, and the passing mention of so many more that must be mastered. She had forgotten more over the summer than she realized. She hated to admit it to Melissa, but the practice sessions had been a good idea - if nothing else, they underscored how very much work she had to do before June. 

-'-'-

By the end of the week, Professor Umbridge had managed to inspect most of the school. 

"She did our Ancient Runes class this morning," said Melissa, at dinner on Friday. "The silly woman only reads English, of course, but she kept jabbing at things on the walls and wanting to know what they meant ... so our professor wrote 'Please ignore the mad woman in back' on the board in Cyrillic, and told her it was our homework assignment." 

Beth laughed. "Beautiful." 

"You've been really having at the old bag lately," Bruce noticed. "I thought you knew her." 

"Never well," said Melissa darkly. "Let me tell you what I think about Professor Dolores Umbridge. I think she's got some pull with the Ministry, to get a job here at Hogwarts and then get put right away in some trumped-up, all-powerful position. I think she's smart, manipulative and ambitious. I _know_ she's been publicly calling Dumbledore a liar ever since he started to spread the stories about you-know-what at the end of last year." 

She looked from Bruce to Beth. 

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep her happy," she said. "She's one of us - we should know better than anyone what that means. She's very dangerous. And it's only going to get worse." 

Melissa was not the only one who noticed Umbridge's potential for power. Draco and the others had started showing her a deference that they had never given another teacher, not even Snape. Even the bratty little second-years, a pack of hooligans if Beth had ever seen one, never failed to greet Umbridge cheerfully when they passed in the halls. The Hogwarts High Inquisitor continued to nod and smile as if she believed it. 

"It doesn't matter if you're sincere," Melissa sighed. "All that matters is that you play at it. She knows it, we all know it. That's how the game is played. They do it at the Ministry every single day. My parents are pros." 

"You're not bad yourself," Bruce observed. "It actually looked like you were reading in class today." 

"Don't be silly, I was doing the N.E.W.T.s primer under the desk," said Melissa irritably. "Nobody's _that_ good." 

The nice thing about Umbridge was that no matter what she did to a student, he could be certain that he wasn't at the top of her hit list. The Hogwarts High Inquisitor never said so aloud, but that position was held for a very special person. 

It was as clear as crystal. The entire school knew. It was very difficult to tell what Umbridge was thinking, most of the time, but on this one point everyone was completely certain. She absolutely hated Potter. 

"Potter's been in detention every day for two weeks!" Mervin reported gleefully one day, after hearing the delightful news. 

Bruce perked up. "I hope he keeps doing whatever he's doing. Maybe he'll get expelled." 

"We'd never be so lucky," Mervin grumbled. "Besides - if she axed him, who'd she pick on instead?" 

They agreed that it probably wouldn't be Slytherins, but the new professor was unpredictable. For the moment, it was very nice to have Potter around to draw her fire. 

-'-'-

As it turned out, Beth didn't get a chance to sneak out until that Sunday night. Just before curfew that night, she strolled upstairs through the thinning crowds of students returning to their common rooms, and, when the coast was perfectly clear, crept into the tunnel behind the statue of Dame Edna, the one-eyed witch. 

It wasn't right, she thought angrily, making her way through the stark earthen tunnel. When Society alumnus Baltus Gatherum had died, the Society held a huge reunion dinner and memorial wake. His ring had been interred with kind words and a moment of silence. Ruse or not, Richard should have gotten the same treatment ... but the Dark Lord had taken that away. 

She reached the end of the tunnel and climbed cautiously into the basement of Honeyduke's candy shop. The sacks of dry goods and barrels of sweets filled the stone cellar with a faint, lingering aroma that seemed out of place in the cool air. The store above was tightly closed, the living quarters below dark and still. Raising her wand, Beth closed her eyes and thought of the graveyard. 

_Crack._

There came the now-familiar nauseating feeling of being stretched and spun all at the same time; then her feet felt solid ground again, and her whirling robes settled against her clothes. She opened her eyes. 

The clouds were so thick that the sky seemed made of drooping, black cotton. Big drops of rain began to thud dully onto her head. The gravestones all around her already dripped with rainwater; Beth got her bearings and started off through the churchyard at a trot, hoping to get into the Society sepulcher before she was completely drenched. 

The crypt rose bleakly over a crest in the cemetery, presiding like a stern granite judge over the crooked and cracked tombstones littered at its base. Beth moved quickly, willing herself to be silent, hoping the rain would keep her enemies away from the crypt for a night. 

At the door she made a fist and pressed the crest of her ring into the engraving that matched it. The stone wall thinned into mist and she slipped through. 

The light from the magical sconces lining the walls of the crypt cast a strange, artificial glow on the beige stone. Treading quietly, Beth cased the anteroom - just in case - and then returned to the room of names. 

The rolls of membership lined the walls, speckled with the glint of old pewter in some slots beside the names: rings of the deceased. There was nothing beside the name of Lord Voldemort, which until a few months ago had read "Tom Riddle." _We should have known,_ Beth thought. _Jules Rothbard so much as told us - our founder had 'never been properly interred'. We should have wondered._ But they hadn't, and she had to admit to herself that their knowledge would have done nothing to impede the Dark Lord's resurrection anyway. 

She found Richard's name below that of Gypsy Arendt under the year of their induction. As she undid her necklace and slid off the pewter ring, she wondered what Gypsy was doing now that she had left Durmstrang, and was pleased to find that she didn't care. She now thought of Gypsy (though she didn't realize it) with the fond regard of a victorious rival. 

Beth slipped his ring into the slot beside Richard's name, then re-fastened the necklace with the black opal ring from Richard's mother around her neck. So final ... she raised her fingers to press against the engraving. 

The vision that filled her mind was black but for an image of his face, rotating in the darkness so that it was more of a bust, a three-dimensional memory encased in the stone. Without the ring to follow, the wall could no longer show his whereabouts. Richard was free. 

Beth dropped her fingers and stepped back with a sigh of relief. Now that she would admit the truth to herself, she hadn't been sure that it would work. 

Speaking of things she wasn't sure would work... 

She wandered down the walls until she came to the most recent years, the roster of current members. _Please,_ she thought, _let this not work._

She touched her fingers to Evan's name. 

It was like running into a brick wall. An image of Hogwarts crashed into her mind: Hogwarts from below, with towering parapets and impregnable walls. It filled her mind from end to end. The vastness of the castle, its sheer strength, pounded in her head... 

Beth reeled backward and her hand slid away from the wall of names. The pain subsided into a throbbing headache. She gritted her teeth against a groan. No wonder no one could spy inside of Hogwarts. After a greeting like that, no one would ever want to try again. 

She laid a hand on Mervin's name, just to be sure, but only endured a few seconds of mental agony before ripping it away again. She could not see past the stone walls and barred windows. _Hogwarts: A History_ had been correct. The castle was impenetrable. 

Beth stood there for a few moments, gazing around at the list of names, waiting for her headache to subside. There were so many names ... quite a few rings in the slots, as well. How many of them had she met? A dozen, two dozen, out of over a hundred members? How many of them could she trust? 

Her eyes strayed to a place near the corner. 

Don't do it, a voice inside her said. Just as strongly, another voice insisted, It won't hurt just to look. 

_Yes, it will hurt,_ Beth thought, overriding them both, _but I need to see._

She walked over and put her fingers on the name of Lycaeon Parson. 

The vision flew through her brain with an almost physical force - it was like falling into a movie screen - before the picture settled into an exterior view of Azkaban. The fortress swam in grayscale, but Beth knew it wouldn't have mattered; there was nothing to see but bleak black sea, gray walls and dark empty sky. No color dared penetrate the island of the dementors. 

A barred window rose into view and expanded to fill her vision. Something twitched near the sill: a beetle, or a rat ... closer still and the thing took the form of a calloused human hand, clutching the edge of stone. 

Then she was through the bars and inside the cell. Seemingly suspended from the ceiling, she stared down at the cold stone floor and the wasted figure hunched near the wall, one hand grasping for the bars. Had he really been so thin? Maybe at first, but certainly not when she had last seen him... Had his hair, shaggy and graying through the blonde, always been so lank and uncontrolled? 

Had his eyes always been so empty? 

Beth wanted to end the vision. It physically hurt to see him like this, the way he had once been ... but she kept looking. It might have been that she missed seeing him, or that she wanted to feel like she still knew her brother, or even that she dared not look away, but some strong force kept her eyes riveted at the sight of him. 

Something else flickered on the edge of the vision. 

Lycaeon curled into a ball on the floor. Beth willed the image to expand, to take in the unseen thing at the edge, which she now saw as a tattered corner of cloak licking the bars - and suddenly the image erupted, blindingly large, and she saw the full terrifying form of the dementor billowing against the bars to her brother's cell. 

Beth pulled away from the wall with an audible gasp, and instantly she was left staring at the sandstone wall of names. She reached out again, desperate not to lose sight ... and stopped herself. Watching Lycaeon under the effects of a dementor was not something she ever wished to see. 

She stepped reluctantly away from the wall. Her job was done, and so was her extra task. Without another glance at the wall she turned and left. 

She had had enough of the nighttime, the crypt, and past memories for one night. 

She had no sooner stepped out into the rainy graveyard than she saw something move at the edge of the trees. 

Beth threw herself behind a tombstone, heedless of the mud on her hands and soaking through the knees of her jeans. She peeked around the gravestone. The figure wore a dark cloak and hood, eliminating any chance of identification. It moved quickly between the tombs, undaunted by the driving rain. Clearly, its destination was the Society crypt. 

Beth crouched behind the gravestone, breathless, as the figure approached and finally sank through the door of the crypt. As soon as it had vanished, she leapt to her feet and took off across the graveyard. No matter who the visitor to the crypt, she wanted to be as far away as possible- 

"Oof!" 

Something bit into her knee and she went sprawling on the rain-wet grass. Muffling her pain, she rolled over to see what had gotten her. 

The jagged edge of a tombstone stood innocently in the shadows, rain trickling down its sides where a smear of blood dripped across it like a sash. 

Beth hadn't even noticed that her heart had been pounding so hard until it began to slow down. Groaning, she scrambled to her feet and staggered the last few yards to the edge of the wood. She closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down. It would be no good to anyone if she splinched... She took a deep breath and Apparated back to the quiet streets of Hogsmeade. 

She landed on her knees, and this time couldn't hold back a surprised squall of pain. Well, at least she was safe here in the empty street. She sat back and pulled back the hem of her cloak to take a look at the damage. Her jeans were gashed open in one knee; the leg was soaked with mud from the fall. She pinched the cloth, wondering if the house-elves would be able to get out the stain, and her fingers came back red. 

So it wasn't mud. Wincing, she prodded her leg until she found the wound; not a bad one, more bloody than painful. Confident that it was neither debilitating nor lethal, she got to her feet and limped toward Honeyduke's, praying that she wasn't bleeding badly enough to leave a trail in the basement of the candy store. 

-'-'-

Beth snuck back through the tunnel, coming up behind the statue of the one-eyed witch into an empty hallway and making it back to the dungeons without incident. She whispered the password and crept inside - only to see that some of the lights of the common room were still lit. 

"It's all right," came a low but clear voice. "I've sent everyone to bed." 

Beth followed the voice to see Melissa reclining in one of the high-backed chairs, the N.E.W.T.s study primer between her hands. She came up and sat down across from her. "You can do that?" 

"I am a seventh-year prefect," said Melissa. "My word is law." She caught sight of Beth's bloodstained jeans and let out a gasp. "Oh _Beth,_ what happened?" 

Beth groaned. "Nothing. I tripped on a tombstone." 

"Then - everything went well?" 

"Someone else showed up." Beth slumped down onto the chair beside her, not caring about the mud she was getting all over everything; that, after all, was what house elves were for. "I don't think they saw me." 

"Because you were perfectly camouflaged in a puddle of mud," said Melissa, looking her up and down. 

"You try going out in the pouring rain..." Beth prodded at her knee, trying to see how badly her jeans had been torn. "The Guild was right, you can't use the crypt to see into Hogwarts. Thirty seconds of trying and I still have a headache." 

Melissa's face dissolved in relief. "Oh thank _goodness._" 

"I dropped off Rich's ring. And checked on my brother." 

They sat quietly for a moment. Beth remembered again her brother's pale and lank face. She tried to conjure up a memory of the way he'd been the previous year, growing healthier, bragging about his Muggle job at the petrol station, joking that soon you wouldn't be able to tell him from Martin Miggs. But the worn features overshadowed the cheery ones; she couldn't remember, somehow, the happier times. 

Melissa spoke up sadly. 

"So. He's really gone." 

"Yeah," Beth said, with a sigh. She wasn't sure her brother would be able to stand losing his freedom a second time. 

Melissa's face softened with sadness. "It doesn't seem real, does it?" she said. 

"No. I thought he was here to stay." 

"I ... suppose I knew he was in danger." Melissa seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Beth. "But ... I never expected him to ... to die." 

Beth looked up sharply. Lycaeon wasn't dead - with a jolt, she understood. Richard, in the eyes of nearly the entire world, was. 

Melissa, who had also jerked her gaze upward at Beth's motion, stared at her. "You ... were talking about Rich, right?" 

"It doesn't matter." Beth didn't know why she felt so vulnerable then, as if Melissa's question had been an attack. "They're both gone." 

She stood up abruptly. "I'm beat. Let's go to bed." 

Melissa nodded, still with that peculiar look on her face, and followed Beth back to their dormitories, where they changed in the dark and went to bed without another word. 

-'-'-

They made sure all of the Society members, including Madam Pince and Professor Grubbly-Plank, knew that they could not be spied on inside the Hogwarts walls. (They weren't sure about the grounds, but suspected that they were similarly protected.) It was almost frightening to see how relieved the two witches were to hear the news. 

"I've suspected," said Madam Pince, her usually stern face relaxing into excitement. "I've never known..." 

"Of course," said Professor Grubbly-Plank in a hushed voice. "Tommy stayed at Hogwarts over the summers on account of he's an orphan. He wouldn't want any of us spying on him over the hols. 'Spect that's about when he found the Chamber of Secrets," she mused, as Beth and Melissa exchanged horrified looks at the sight of her gabbing about the Dark Lord like the old school friend he was. "Course we didn't know it at the time, though Bernard Humphries, him and Baltus Gatherum were a mite suspicious. Very bright, old Bernard." 

"And look what happened to them," Melissa muttered, when they had left Professor Grubbly-Plank behind with her memories. "Bernard Humphries went and got his memory erased somehow last year, and Baltus Gatherum's dead." 

The four seventh-years strolled around the edge of the lake, stopping occasionally to chuck rocks into the water or watch the bare ripples where the giant squid cruised just inches below. 

"I still don't like it," said Mervin, for the hundredth time. 

"Nonsense." Melissa skipped a rock with particular force. "We've had all the proof we can expect." She turned back to them. The sun glinted on the lake behind her. "The Ravenclaws were right. You know what that means." 

"I owe Bruce a Sickle," said Mervin glumly. 

"Man, the Ravenclaws are _always_ right," said Bruce. "It was a sucker bet." 

"It means," said Melissa, glaring them down in turn, "that we can, at least to an extent, trust their knowledge base. It means that they know things about this castle and what's in it that we don't - and it means that they're willing to share it with us." 

She looked around at them, hands on her hips. 

"We're going back to the Vase Room." 

-'-'-

The Vase Room had lain empty for months; and now, though the ten Society members gathered on its low couches amid many varied pots and vases, it was as silent as if they were not there at all. 

Melissa had described the Guild of the Eagle; Beth had explained her discovery of the limitations of the wall of names. Blaise looked at her shoes; Morag, beside her, chewed on his nails contemplatively. Audra Verona sat quietly beside her dark classmate, Oren, who was rubbing his hands together absently and looking at the floor. Herne wore his worries on his face, while Evan, as usual, was a cold mask of indifference that may have been more studiously cool than usual. 

"What are they after?" said Oren at last, pushing up his rimless glasses with uncharacteristic nervousness. 

"That's what I asked," Bruce told him. "Information, apparently. Just to know more about us." 

Oren did not look convinced. 

"I think we should take a chance," Melissa said. "You never know when we may need allies. Although ... I think I'd like a second opinion." 

She turned to Audra. 

The blonde girl gazed back calmly. Beth hadn't heard her speak a word for the entire school year - not surprising, since they hadn't had any meetings, and Audra tended to keep her peace anyway. However, it had only been a few months since they had discovered the truth: quiet Audra, who barely spoke, was a genuine Seer. 

Melissa's voice was serious. 

"Can we trust them?" 

Audra thought about for a few minutes. Then she shrugged lightly. 

"They fear us." 

The Society exchanged glances and murmurs. 

"I guess it's true," said Herne, with an air of surprise. "They look at me sideways in class." 

Herne had turned into a well-built, burly sixth-year; and although he was as genial as it was possible to be, it was no wonder that the other students regarded him warily. Besides, Beth thought, he was on good terms with Evan, who unnerved everybody. 

"Tha' means they'll be swier tae set us in dudgeon," said Morag, "an' ca' cannie tae depone agin' us." 

There was a silence. 

"They'll be afeared tae do us wrong." 

Nods and murmurs of agreement. 

"One more thing," said Melissa. "Beth saw someone going into the crypt the night she went to - to replace Richard's ring." She looked unhappy just to say the name. "They can't see us while we're in Hogwarts, but I let this remind you that they're still trying. I think we should take a risk with the Guild, but we must not fool ourselves that we're safe." 

No one replied. 

"All right then," said Melissa, back to her usual brisk self. "Midnight at the Entrance Hall next Tuesday. Bring your wands. And don't forget-" she added, as they began to get up and stretch before the trek back to the common room, "-don't trust _anyone_ too far." 

-'-'-

The ten of them gathered in the Entrance Hall, huddled close together, in preparation for the first joint meeting of the full Society with the Guild. 

"Now listen carefully," said Melissa, lowering her voice. "We know they know a lot about us, but we don't know how much. Don't volunteer information. Not a word about Pince or Grubbly-Plank, not a single peep that two of us are Death Eaters, and anyone who mentions that Audra's a Seer will be instantly murdered. I am not joking." 

"I believe you," said Mervin solemnly. "Slytherins never joke about murder." 

"Nor do I." Melissa arched an eyebrow in his direction. "I think we should take advantage of their help, but we need to play our cards very close to the chest. Understood?" 

No one replied, so she went to the center of the room and tapped the tile with her wand. 

One by one, the Society members stepped onto the enchanted stone and were whisked upward through the ceiling and into the tower library of the Ravenclaw Guild. 

Beth waited until everyone but Melissa had gone before riding the strange current upward. She arrived disheveled but whole and went to take a seat among the rest of the Society, who had laid claim to a few chairs and tables on the other side of the room. Apart from Bruce and Kiesha, the two groups did not seem to be mingling. 

Deirdre, in fact, had already begun the meeting. Melissa popped through the floor as she was having a discussion about detentions with Michael Corner, and joined the Society with the sheepish hunch of someone walking into a theater after the play has begun. 

"The Hufflepuffs changed their password," said a bright-eyed girl with puckish blonde hair. "It's _diligence_ now." 

Kiesha pointed her wand across the room to where a large plaque hung on the wall, bearing the four house crests to the left of a series of engraved plates. The plate beside the Hufflepuff crest shivered in its settings. When it had settled, the word "diligence" shone clearly in the tarnished surface. Beth noticed that the Slytherin password was among them. 

"Remind me to change the password tomorrow," Mervin muttered in her ear. 

"Nice catch, Cova Lynn," said Deirdre appreciatively. The little girl beamed. Beth thought she looked too young and chipper to be an accomplished spy. "Did anyone else make themselves useful this week?" 

No one, apparently, had, so Deirdre turned to Melissa. "I see you have brought your full number. Welcome." 

Some of the Society members offered half-grins or raised hands, but the greeting was not one that invited warm replies. 

"Have you any questions for us?" 

An unexpected offering. Beth personally had lots of questions, but none of them seemed pressing enough, or were well enough articulated in her head, to mention. Melissa thought, glanced around at them, and then finally shook her head "no." 

"Very well. In that case, we have a question for you." 

No one looked surprised. "Go on," said Melissa. 

"We were curious as to just how you came to the conclusion that you were being spied upon. All of us came to Hogwarts under the natural assumption that we would be protected from that sort of thing; you, however, must have gotten some indication to the contrary. What?" 

Melissa hesitated for just a moment. She must have decided, however, that the Ravenclaws were worth more as an ally than a threat, so she said clearly, "The problem is the rings." 

Deirdre looked at her blankly. "Excuse me?" 

"The Society rings." Melissa held up a hand to show her, then blushed and put it back down. "Well - you can't see them unless you're wearing one. But we've all got one." 

"I see." Deirdre didn't bother craning her neck to look for something she couldn't see. "What do they do?" 

Mervin, who usually worked on enchanting the rings, answered that. "Identify us to each other," he said, somewhat proudly. "They also channel magic so that we can cast group spells. They warn us when one of the members has died. And they're sort of a tracking device; there's a list of us that lets us spy on one another." He didn't mention that it was inscribed on the walls of a sepulcher. 

Deirdre was nodding. "Which is why you were concerned about outside observation." 

"Right." Mervin glanced down at his own ring. "Oh, yeah. And we can't take them off unless we're dead." 

"Convenient," Kiesha commented pointlessly. 

Cho Chang had leaned forward to hear better; now she spoke up for the first time. "They sound like a huge liability." 

"Not normally," said Melissa, nodding, "but now, they're the worst sort." 

"You were right," Beth pointed out. "They don't work for spying within the castle walls." Deirdre nodded with the patience of one who is used to being proven right. 

"Ooh!" The little girl named Cova Lynn raised a hand. As soon as Deirdre nodded toward her, she burst out breathlessly:"I read this book once, it was about a magic ring, and the fellow who was carrying it couldn't get rid of it because he didn't have the willpower." 

"Really!" That sounded relevant. Beth leaned forward. "What happened?" 

"Somebody bit his finger off." 

The whole Society recoiled. 

"Eugh!" said Melissa involuntarily. 

"We're not doing that," said Bruce quickly, rubbing the crest of his ring nervously. 

"I think it's worth a try," said Kiesha, snatching up his hand and nipping playfully at his fingertips. 

"You're not helping," said Bruce, with a smile. 

"But I'm bloody cute," Kiesha grinned back. 

Deirdre rolled her eyes. "Bletchley was more correct," she said briskly. "Thank you, Cova Lynn, we will consider your suggestion as a last resort." Cova Lynn beamed in a way that someone contemplating amputation should not have done. 

There were few comments and no major items of news, but through the course of the evening it became clear how closely the Guild kept track of Hogwarts daily minutiae, a fact which left Beth feeling both impressed and alarmed. It was nearly one o'clock when the Society dropped back down through the ceiling of the Entrance Hall and crept back to their dormitories. 

They reached the common room without much trouble. Melissa whispered the password and waited for everyone else to go inside. She had one foot inside the door when she paused and glanced behind her. Evan Wilkes had bypassed the common room and continued down the hall. 

Melissa paused and leaned back out the door of the common room. "Where are you going?" 

"Alchemy project," said Evan shortly, without pause. 

"Evan, it's four hours past curfew!" 

"Time and tide," he tossed back, and disappeared into one of the dungeons. 

Melissa came back into the common room, shaking her head, and the stone wall rematerialized behind her. "I'd stop him," she said, "except the only person who would catch him is Snape, and he won't care." 

"I didn't start doing the midnight oil thing until May," Beth recalled with a shudder. "I can't believe he's so deep in his project already." 

"What _is_ he working on?" 

"I don't actually know. Professor Snape said he's trying something very foolish, and very likely impossible," Beth told her, remembering what she had heard that first day of classes. 

"I really don't like the sound of that," said Mervin. 

"Nor I," said Melissa. "Especially since foolish and impossible things don't seem to daunt Evan too much." 

-'-'-

Evan spent a lot of time that week on his Alchemy; and although Beth peeked in every time she took a break from grading potions for Snape, it never became clear what he was trying to do. Often as not he sat in the dungeons glaring at an open book with his cauldron suspended over an unlit fire. Finally she decided that since Snape had approved it, it couldn't be too bad, and resigned herself to being left out of Evan's little world. 

The following week's Guild meeting brought interesting news, especially since the Society would not have been otherwise privy to it. It was nearly a half hour into the proceedings (Deirdre becoming increasingly frustrated at the petty nature of most comments) when Michael Corner finally spoke up: "Hogsmeade next week." 

"Ah," said Deirdre, satisfied. "That _is_ useful." She turned to Melissa. "You were worried about being under surveillance. In Hogsmeade village it would be all too easy for your enemies to watch you - to hex or even kidnap you. You all ought to consider remaining in the castle." 

Kiesha cocked her head and squinted. "You know, Dee, when you do that paranoia thing you almost look like Mad-Eye Moody." 

Deirdre turned slowly towards her. "I beg your pardon?" 

"Come on. Say 'Constant vigilance'." 

"Constant pestilence," said Deirdre, through her teeth. 

"With _feeling,_" Kiesha urged. 

Michael Corner broke in then, though it wasn't clear whether he was trying to save his Chair from further aggravation, or save Kiesha from a hex. "There's going to be some kind of meeting in Hogsmeade, in the Hog's Head tavern. My girlfriend says it has something to do with Harry Potter and D.A.D.A. She wouldn't tell me anything else, but she wants me to bring you and Boot." He nodded toward Anthony Goldstein, the big-nosed prefect. 

"That's right!" said Cho, turning to look at him. "Hermione Granger invited me as well." 

"Splendid," said Deirdre, "that makes three of you. I want you to take note of everyone in attendance, everything that is said, and your surroundings both immediate and extended." 

Melissa leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "What do you think they're up to?" 

"I haven't a clue," said Deirdre grimly. "But if Harry Potter is involved, I guarantee that it will be worth knowing about." 


	13. Hogsmeade and the High Inquisitor

**Chapter Thirteen: Hogsmeade and the High Inquisitor**

Not since fifth year, and the whole horrible "going with" trend, had Beth felt so mixed about a trip to Hogsmeade.

The Society had a long sit-down in the Vase Room to discuss whether it was safe to go or not. It would expose them to the Dark Lord's gaze, as Deirdre had noted; besides that, Hogwarts was a public village. Anyone could show up, Death Eaters included. The danger of being spied on was one thing; the danger of being physically accosted was quite another.

On the other hand, ten Slytherins - who, as far as anyone knew, had nothing to do with each other - opting out of the trip was sure to be suspicious. There was also the curious inactivity of the Dark Lord. Since his resurrection, he had barely made a public move. The harming (or even disappearance) of a Hogwarts student would be major news. It would blow his cover. With his indication that the Society was to be "kept in reserve," it seemed unlikely that the Dark Lord would risk exposure on such a gamble.

In the end, it was this viewpoint which won out, and the Society joined the rest of the school in the horseless carriages, bouncing down toward the village. For Beth, the choice was augmented by a restlessness to get out of the school. She had skipped most of the Hogsmeade trips the previous year, in favor of knock-together Quidditch scrimmages, and was now eager to walk its streets again. Besides, the N.E.W.T.s, not to mention her usual coursework and her job with Snape, were driving her up a wall.

They reached the village and poured out into the streets. Bruce and Kiesha had a date (Beth was pretty sure that it included a visit to the Quidditch museum), and Mervin slunk off immediately on some sinister enterprise, so Beth joined Melissa on her quest for high fashion in the Hogsmeade branch of Gladrags Wizardwear.

Searching for the perfect set of outerwear, however, can be a numbing exercise. After roughly two hours of watching Melissa try on scarf after scarf, Beth excused herself for a breath of fresh air and bolted for the exit.

The weather was chilly but bright; gusts of breeze nipped the hanging signs and pulled at students' cloaks up and down the road. Beth rested her elbows on the porch railing and surveyed the town. Hogsmeade was a long way from Dorset; it was unlikely that she would return often after leaving school. _Better enjoy it while I can._

"Beth Parson."

Beth gave a start and whirled around. Leaning against the corner of the building, thin legs crossed at the ankles, a smug expression on his narrow face, was Randall Riggs.

Her surprise at seeing him was almost immediately eclipsed by the memory of whose side he was on. "What do you want?" she snapped.

"What a way to treat an old friend," said Riggs mournfully. He had his hands in his pockets, casual and cool. There was something different about the former S.S.A. secretary, a confidence in his bearing that Beth was sure he hadn't had the last time she saw him. He even looked different...

"What happened to your glasses?"

"Magically corrected," said Riggs smugly, tapping his temple. "My new employer knows how to reward his supporters." He looked her up and down. "Such a shame about old Rich, wasn't it? I was so sorry to hear."

His sympathy was so obviously false that Beth didn't bother to conceal her distaste. "I'll bet you were."

"Don't believe me if you don't want to," said Riggs carelessly, "but that little _mort du roi_ was unfortunate for all of us. You've lost your captain, and we lost the book."

The book. He was only after the Ledger. Beth couldn't believe she'd once felt sympathy for him, even after he'd taken them all hostage and threatened to kill Vivian. He had seemed more than a little unhinged at the time, and there was a certain guilty awkwardness around him both times she had caught sight of him since; but now that his true master had returned, now that he had been proven right, she felt nothing but revulsion.

He was impatient with her silence. "So tell me. What did the dearly departed do with his earthly possessions?"

"I don't know," said Beth stonily.

Without warning, Riggs shot out an arm and grabbed Beth by the elbow, dragging her toward him until their bodies crashed together. "I am no fool," he hissed, breath cold on Beth's ear, "and neither was Richard. He made provisions. He told you about them. I will ask you once more before I magically pry it from your brain. Where ... is ... the ... Ledger?"

"I ... don't ... know," Beth hissed back, wanting to spit in his face, "and if you don't let me go I'll scream so loud that Dumbledore will hear it from here."

Riggs' mouth twisted a little; he shoved her away, an ugly look on his face. "Go on then, run to Dumbledore," he sneered. "But be warned. He may not always be there to run to."

"Why are you here?" Beth demanded. "You've been avoiding everybody for three years. Why did you have to come back?"

"Well," said Riggs, a smile at his mouth, a hint of madness in his eye, "it looks as if we're back on the same team, aren't we?"

Beth's face clouded dangerously.

"See you," said Riggs, grinning wider than ever. He turned and started down the street.

"Riggs!" said Beth furiously.

He didn't stop walking.

"Riggs, you get back here!"

At the end of the street, Randall Riggs paused, took out his wand, and vanished.

Melissa burst through the door of Gladrags, swathed in a brilliantly-striped scarf. "What do you think?" she cried, turning this way and that. "Do you love it?" She stopped her pirouette at the sight of Beth's face. "What's wrong?"

Beth tore her eyes from the spot from which Riggs had vanished. "I think the Guild was right."

-'-'-

Riggs did not reappear for the rest of the day, although Beth kept looking over her shoulder, expecting his smug face around every corner in Hogsmeade. Melissa thought it wisest to refrain from talking about him until they were safely back in the castle, and Beth agreed; so it was late that night, alone in their room at last, that Beth finally described everything he had done and said.

"Well," said Melissa, staring bleakly at the floor. "Well, we _did_ know he was that way..."

"Yeah, but this means now the Dark Lord knows it too," Beth added glumly. "I wish I'd - I don't even know what he was up to, I should have tried to hold onto him longer."

"It seems to me that keeping well away from him is just as good," Melissa said. Her face clouded. "Talking about Rich like that-" She glanced at Beth thoughtfully. "You don't know, do you? Where the Ledger is?"

"No." That was entirely true; although she had an inkling that wherever Rich was hiding out, the Ledger too could be found.

"I suppose that could be a good thing," said Melissa. "I do hope he hid it properly."

"You know Rich."

"I did," said Melissa gravely. "Frankly, that's what gives me the greatest hope that it's safe."

-'-'-

Sunday passed restlessly. Beth had a lot to do, but little inclination to do it; her attention span seemed to have dropped to the three-second level of a goldfish. She wandered the halls of the castle with her books, looking for a good place to study, only to finally abandon them all in futility and return to the common room, where she bid into Mervin's Gobstones game and played until midnight.

Of course, the fruits of her labor came to strike her on Monday morning, when she realized that she hadn't proofread her Herbology paper, and had completely forgotten about her Charms homework. _Oh well,_ she thought blearily, stumbling into the common room, still yawning. _I'll squeeze it in over lunch._

She paused. The bulletin board on the west wall was attracting uncommon attention; among the crowd staring up at it was Melissa. She hesitated, then joined the group.

The board was half-covered with a vast parchment, elegantly done in large black letters. The first word that jumped out and struck Beth's eye was the large, bold "Society."

Her jaw dropped, and she craned her neck to read it clearly.

**- BY ORDER OF -  
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**  
All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are  
henceforth disbanded.  
An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as  
a regular meeting of three or more students.  
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor  
(Professor Umbridge).  
No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist  
without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.  
Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization,  
Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High  
Inquisitor will be expelled.  
_The above is in accordance with  
Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._  
Signed:  
_Dolores Jane Umbridge_  
HIGH INQUISITOR

The entire incredible decree was punctuated with a large purple wax seal at the bottom, bearing the "M" of the Ministry.

Beth turned quickly towards Melissa. The specific use of the word "Societies" was unnerving. Melissa's mouth was open in horror.

"Oh no, what about our N.E.W.T.s practices? D'you think those count as a club?"

Beth stared at her. "What about that _other_ club we're in?"

"Oh, I'm not worried about _that_, they can't shut us down if they don't know about us. But the N.E.W.T.s! I'm going to have to go talk to Professor Umbridge..."

She got up and hurried away, hastily polishing her prefects' badge on her sleeve.

Shaking her head, Beth headed up to breakfast.

She had barely reached the table when Bruce, looking frantic, whizzed past and hurried toward Montague.

"Have you seen?"

Montague was sitting with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, looking quite unconcerned. "Don't wet your pants, Bletchley," said Montague languidly. "Draco's up having a chat with Umbridge right now. I wouldn't be surprised if the team was back together by the end of breakfast."

"Why Draco?" said Bruce sharply, his face showing all too clearly what he thought of the Seeker. "It ought to be you petitioning."

"Seems Draco knows her from outside of school," said Montague, with an air of great unconcern. "Pals around with his father, or something." He grinned up at Bruce; there was something dangerous in his grin. "Sit down, boy-o, it's under control."

Looking as though it was taking a serious effort to remain silent, Bruce went down the table to sit across from Beth.

She changed the subject hastily. "How's your paper for Grubbly-Plank been coming, Bruce? On Knarls? I did the drawing last night, but haven't touched the essay."

Bruce grunted noncommittally. "Got a few inches down," he replied moodily, picking around at his oatmeal. "I'll copy the drawing off a textbook tonight." He banged down his spoon suddenly. "I just want to know," he said hotly, "how you can get axed for bad grades and then _come back_."

Beth shushed him quickly; Montague had glanced their way. Thankfully, the Quidditch captain turned back to his mates without indicating that he had heard.

"It doesn't matter how," she told him, in an undertone. "He's back, Bruce, and you don't want him as an enemy."

Bruce grunted; he may have agreed, but his mood persisted through the morning.

When the seventh-years got back together for lunchtime, they found the fifth years celebrating in a cheerful knot near the table. This was never something to ignore, so when Blaise broke apart from the group, Beth grabbed her and inquired, "What do you look so happy about?"

Blaise beamed in delight. "Umbridge did Snape before lunch."

Beth stared at her. "That sounds really wrong."

Blaise realized the implication and blushed. "She inspected our class," she corrected.

"_Again?_" said Bruce, aghast.

"No, I think it was the first time," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Just from the sort of things she asked. And Snape's reaction," she added, with a little snigger.

"I guess she's finally found time to go back to the inspections," Beth noted. "I don't think she ever did Binns either."

Her words were prophetic. As they filed into History of Magic after lunch, expecting to spend an uninterrupted hour on the N.E.W.T.s primer while Professor Binns droned happily along, they were met with an unpleasant surprise sitting, clipboard in hand, in the back of the room.

Beth gave Professor Umbridge a smile and wave, inwardly gritting her teeth. So much for the N.E.W.T.s primer. Umbridge simpered back, with a little finger-wave that said, _How lovely that we're getting to be friends!_

Melissa did her one better, greeting Umbridge out loud as she came in. When they were safely seated, she shot Beth a long-suffering look. Rolling her eyes sympathetically, Beth forewent the N.E.W.T.s primer and pulled out her History of Magic book, which hadn't been touched since their last homework assignment three weeks ago.

Mervin and Aaron had their heads together, glancing at the clock and scrawling something on a piece of paper. When Binns floated through the blackboard, they put it away and arranged themselves in positions of utmost attentiveness.

It was, by later accounts, eight minutes before the expected sound came.

"_Hem hem_."

Both Mervin and Aaron looked up at the clock; then Mervin dug in his pocket and handed Aaron a sickle. (Melissa let out a derisive snort, which Aaron returned with a malevolent glare.)

Professor Umbridge had to clear her throat thrice more before Professor Binns took notice, each time in a louder and more grating fashion. Finally he looked up, his sentence trailing off in astonishment to see such an unusual-looking person seated in his classroom.

"I say!" His eyes were wide behind his ghostly spectacles. "Who are you?"

"Dolores Umbridge, Professor," said Umbridge. "I was just making sure you received the little note I sent you earlier this week."

Professor Binns looked up from his desk, blinking his eyes in a puzzled manner. "Er, quite right ... I suppose I must have ... Professor ... er, what was it again?"

"Dolores Umbridge," said Professor Umbridge, not looking at all pleased, "Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Hogwarts High Inquisitor. I have come to inspect your class."

"Oh!" Binns peered at her with surprised eyes. "Well ... carry on then, Professor Ulrich." He looked back down at his notes and all traces of alertness seemed to slide away from him. "The Gurg of giants at the time, known simply as 'Grunt', reign A.D. 1313 to 1315..."

"_Hem hem_."

Everyone swiveled toward Professor Umbridge. She cleared her throat another four times before Professor Binns, interrupted in the middle of Grunt's dubious credentials, paused and looked at her, again quite bewildered.

"Professor Underhill?"

"The name is Dolores Umbridge," said Professor Umbridge sweetly, "and I wish to ask you a few questions about this class. You are aware that you are teaching a class at the moment?"

Professor Binns wore a mask of utter surprise. "Oh! Oh yes, quite. Your questions, Madam ... ah ... Urquhart?"

"Professor Umbridge, if you please," the witch sang in reply. "This is the standard format of your lectures, is it not, Professor Binns?"

"Why yes, I believe it is," said Professor Binns, bobbing distractedly.

"I see." Umbridge made a note. "For how long, Professor Binns, have you been teaching here at Hogwarts?"

There was no hesitation in Binns' wispy voice; his capacity for memorizing dates was unsurpassed. "Ninety-three years."

"And for how many of those years have you been dead?"

"Oh! Fifty on the mark," Professor Binns chuckled. "Very good tenure, Hogwarts has."

"I see," said Professor Umbridge, scribbling furiously. "Perhaps _too_ good, isn't that right? It seems that certain _severe_ inadequacies in the staff have been overlooked for far too long."

"Why yes," said Professor Binns, looking straight at her, "it does seem that they have."

Professor Umbridge's quill came to a screeching halt. Her pasty face tightened; the large simpering smile became extremely fixed. "Quite right," she said tightly. Her voice somehow remained as sweet and girlish as ever.

She bent to write something on her paper; and when Binns sank once more into his lecture, the sounds of a scratching quill could still be heard above the drone.

-'-'-

"Good zinger Binns pulled on Umbridge."

"Almost made the class worth the time."

The seventh-year Slytherins stood around in the hallway between classes. With Umbridge gone and Binns having floated back through the blackboard, they could finally talk about the very interesting confrontation in the previous class.

"I thought it was very imprudent," said Melissa.

Mervin smirked. "Imprudent? What's she going to do, exorcise him?"

Aaron laughed; Melissa shot him a very dirty look. He shot it right back and took off down the hall after Warrington. Melissa ignored him. "She could get a Ministry injunction put on him, that's what!" she scolded. "Like Moaning Myrtle's got. And then who knows what sort of horrid replacement we'd get. Someone awful and boring and useless, just like h-"

She trailed off. Professor Umbridge was coming towards them down the hall.

"Hagrid," Melissa finished, so smoothly that she might only have had a catch in her throat. "Can you imagine having two of them in the same school?"

Professor Umbridge passed, with a simper and nod to Melissa, who smiled back. As soon as she was past, Melissa's face dropped back into a frown.

"Can you _imagine_ having two of them in the same school?" she repeated, almost helplessly.

Beth could imagine it. It wasn't a pretty thought.

The bell rang and the lot of them moved toward Care of Magical Creatures. As they filed through the packed hallways, someone heralded Bruce from behind.

It was Draco Malfoy, moving easily through the crowd with Crabbe and Goyle in front and behind. He clapped Bruce on the shoulder. "Word from the captain," he announced. "Montague moved practice to seven. See you there."

"Seven!" Bruce exclaimed. "I was going to see Kiesha before practice-"

"Ah. He also mentioned that you ought to stop seeing her until after the game." Draco let slide a wink. "Team secrets, you know."

"Team secrets?" Bruce said hotly. "But the Ravenclaw game's not until April!"

Draco nodded in feigned sympathy. "We're all called to make sacrifices for the team," he said gravely.

Without another word, he continued down the hall, with Crabbe and Goyle clearing the way.

Bruce was in a bad mood throughout Care of Magical Creatures, which was bad news for the bowtruckles they were learning to handle; several of them were severely mistreated, and Bruce lost a lot of skin off his hands. One unfortunate creature bit him right between the thumb and forefinger before it found itself snapped cleanly in half.

"Don't worry, ladies, they regenerate," Professor Grubbly-Plank called, picking up the twitching halves and putting them away while the Gryffindor girls squealed in outrage and disgust. "Just the same, Bletchley," she added in an undertone, "keep your hands off my creatures from now on."

"Yes, ma'am," Bruce sighed.

Beth paid close attention to class, as bowtruckles were almost certain to show up on the N.E.W.T.s, and when the bell rang she put away her equipment feeling pretty good. She and Melissa returned their bowtruckle and started back to the castle, but Professor Grubbly-Plank's voice stopped them.

"Ollivander! A word on that Pogrebin paper."

Melissa, looking worried, started towards her. Beth turned to go back to the castle, but the words barked out behind her:

"You too, Parson!"

Drat! She shouldn't have scrawled that paper at the last minute, even if she did have a copy of the last fifteen editions of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, all lovingly inscribed by the author. Sighing, she turned back.

Professor Grubbly-Plank had on her dragon-hide gloves and was chucking the bowtruckles into a canvas bag, which shivered as they flailed their little twiglike legs helplessly against captivity.

"Nice job on the Pogrebin papers," she commented, setting the sack aside. "Never seen anybody reference ten editions of the same book." She started pulling off her gloves while Beth took the time to blush vehemently.

"Then why did you need to see us?" asked Melissa. Her polite tone was offset by an indication that she was hoping for a comment on her own work.

"News," said Grubbly-Plank shortly. She stuffed her gloves in the pocket of her robes. "Potter's owl went and got itself shot. I've got the thing in traction right now."

Neither Beth nor Melissa made reply. It didn't sound like a particularly useful bit of information.

"An intentional attack, if you ask me. Someone was trying to get that owl out of the sky." Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled her unlit pipe from her pocket and stuck the end in her mouth, as if she was just anxious for something to chew. "Bird was carrying a letter from London, if Potter wasn't lying. I just about got away with it but for Minerva - that is, Professor McGonagall - noticed and made me hand it back."

Melissa ventured to say what Beth had been thinking. "I'm sorry, Professor - what does that mean?"

"Mean?" Professor Grubbly-Plank looked outraged. "Mean? It's plain as the nose on my face, and I've got quite a honker. Potter's got some dodgy correspondence going on, and someone is trying to butt in. Wish I'd have kept hold of that note," she muttered, shaking her head.

Melissa looked like she was going to say something, then changed her mind. "We'll tell you if we hear anything about it," she promised. "Thanks for letting us know. Keep us updated if Potter does anything else funny, all right?"

Grubbly-Plank nodded judiciously. "Gloria serpens, missy. As always." A look crossed her face; just as Melissa was turning to go, she added, "One more thing, Ollivander."

Melissa swiveled back. "Yes?"

Grubbly-Plank coughed nervously into her fist. "You ever met Artaxerxes Manning? Little twitchy rat-faced chap, Society member, maybe twenty years ago?"

"I have," said Beth, surprising herself. "At Baltus Gatherum's funeral." Melissa looked ever so slightly impressed.

"Right-o," said Grubbly-Plank uncomfortably, "well, he - I hear that he went missing the other week. Just gone for a weekend. Story is that he went tripping to the sea for a few days. Only - what I hear is, he can't remember."

Beth felt pale. "He can't remember going?"

"He can't remember where he was at all."

Melissa looked pale herself. "Have you heard anything else?"

Professor Grubbly-Plank shook her cropped gray head. "And if anyone asks, I didn't hear even that," she muttered around the stem of her pipe.

"Of course," said Melissa. Her face was serious. "Thank you."

Grubbly-Plank nodded brusquely and went back to her bowtruckles. Beth and Melissa met each others' eyes and beat a hasty retreat.

"Not good," said Melissa in an undertone, on the way back to the castle. "Not good at all."

Beth had to agree. "Aren't there ways to force him to remember - a spell or something, maybe the Recurrus charm, to get his memory back?"

Melissa snorted. "Yes," she said. "There are also ways to curse anyone who tries it."

Beth fell silent. Artaxerxes Manning's weekend excursion was to remain an ominous mystery.

"What about that other thing?" said Beth, unsettled. "Do you really think we should be worried about Potter's owl habits?"

Melissa hesitated. "It's good to keep an eye on him, I suppose. But-" She paused again.

"What?" Beth urged.

"Don't be insulted," Melissa said hastily. "I know that Richard was all desperate to keep our promise to Dumbledore that we would try to protect Potter. But that was before, and - I think that between our problems and Potter's, we should be more worried about our own."

Beth felt again the pang of realization that in the eyes of the world, Richard was dead. "I'm not insulted," she said, thinking of the last time she had seen him. "I think ... under the circumstances, he would probably agree."

"It's good to hear you say that," said Melissa shyly.

She was following in the footsteps of a very charismatic predecessor; and no one is harder to live up to than those who are gone. "Richard chose you and he trusted in you," said Beth firmly, as they reached the Entrance Hall. "You're doing great."

Melissa paused before entering the Great Hall, cocking her head toward Beth with an expression of scrutiny. Then she smiled.

"Thanks."

Together, they went in to dinner.

-'-'-

Beth was anxious for the Guild meeting the next evening: a lot had happened in the past three days. Nevertheless, she wasn't sure how useful it would be. As Melissa once again admonished them before they left the common room: "We don't know how much _they_ know. First and foremost, we need to protect ourselves."

Nobody argued against this policy. Still, it made the meetings seem stilted and careful - nothing like the Society meetings, where unusual events would be brought out and turned over on a weekly basis. It was a shame, Beth thought, that they couldn't trust each other. But it was a fact.

Luckily the first item on the agenda was one that everyone in the school knew about: the sudden ban on unapproved student organizations. The Ravenclaw Chair was not concerned.

"Oh, honestly," said Deirdre, as cold and humorless as ever. "No headmaster in a thousand years has ever done away with the Guild, and they never will." She fixed her eyes on Cho. "You are still going through with the defense club, aren't you?"

"We're meeting tomorrow," said Cho glumly. "Of course after that it's up to Harry, isn't it?"

"Some of those idiot Hufflepuffs went up to ask him about it at breakfast," said Anthony, shaking his head. "Tactless."

Kiesha cast him a knowing glance. "Weren't you and Michael halfway over before his girlfriend came to stop you?"

Anthony gazed at the ceiling and wouldn't answer.

Melissa broke the silence. When it came to the sharing of secrets, she spoke for the group; it was easier to make sure that nobody said anything imprudent when they didn't say anything at all. She addressed Deirdre. "Potter's owl got shot out of the sky yesterday."

"I say!" Anthony Goldstein said, with an air of surprise. "He's got it back. I had wondered what he was doing gadding about the halls with his owl."

Cho Chang leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "I caught him sending an owl earlier this year. It was practically dawn. He looked jumpy-"

"Well, Potter's thick when you're involved," said Deirdre coolly.

"And vice versa," said Kiesha brightly.

Cho, turning progressively pinker, scowled at her teammate. "He was jumpy because someone had caught him sending a letter," she said, "not because it was me who caught him. And then Filch burst in, thinking he was ordering Dungbombs... This only confirms - I think that owl's sent some very interesting messages this year. We might want to start tracking it ourselves."

Most of the Society turned to look at Herne, who the previous year had intercepted a very interesting letter from the Weasley twins to Ludo Bagman. The curly-haired boy flushed bashfully.

"Potter has a snowy owl," Herne spoke up. "It's the only one in the school. We can watch for it in the mornings."

Deirdre nodded curtly. "And we will do the same. Keep us informed about Potter's defense club," Deirdre ordered Michael. She nodded at Melissa. "Be sure to keep them informed as well."

Beth appreciated that she had made provisions to update the Society; but she couldn't help but notice that they weren't included in that first, simple "us."  
... ... ... ... ... ...  
I want to apologize about the formatting of the Educational Decree. With FF.N's new restrictions on html tags, it was much more difficult to make it look nice. I trust you know more or less what it says anyway.


	14. On the Defensive

**Chapter Fourteen: On the Defensive**

The next few days brought another interesting leaf on the gossip tree: Professor Trelawney, it seemed, had been put on probation, giving Professor Umbridge the right to sit in on all of her classes. For at least a week, the most pervasive joke in the school was the fact that the teacher of Divination just hadn't seen it coming. 

"I told you so," said Beth to Melissa, multiple times. 

"All right!" Melissa cried at last. "All right! You're a Seer and she's a fraud! I have to have class with Umbridge six times a week, now shut up and _pity me!_" 

The weather turned cold not long into October. Beth was grateful for the chill; it drew less attention to the fact that she always wore long sleeves these days, to hide the skull on her arm. 

Evan Wilkes, who had always worn long sleeves, didn't face that particular problem, even though he was in the same boat as Beth. She tried occasionally to talk to him about it. Evan, however, was notoriously difficult to get a straight answer from, and she made little progress. Sometimes it irked her; other times, she admitted that the Dark Lord (and the mark placed unwittingly on their skin) was not a subject to be freely discussed. 

Still, Evan could have been more accommodating. One afternoon she found him in the library, picking through the Potions books - a clear sign that he was working on his final Alchemy project for Snape and Vector. She paused to ask, "How's the project going?" 

"Privately," said Evan, with a cold glance. 

Beth decided to pretend that he had made a socially appropriate response. "Yeah, mine didn't get off the ground for the first couple weeks either." 

She almost expected another retort, but Evan answered her blandly. "It's off the ground." He then left before she had a chance to ask what, exactly, his project entailed. 

The Society and the Guild continued to avoid each other studiously in public, and exchange information in private. Meanwhile, an organization of another sort was brewing. 

"The defense club's begun," Cho Chang reported at the Guild meeting that Tuesday. Her eyes were alight with excitement. "We had our first meeting on Wednesday. Harry's taught us the Disarming Charm." 

"I would say," said Kiesha saucily, "that Harry already had you _disarmed_ with his _charms_." 

"Enough of that," said Deirdre coldly, as Cho flushed a brilliant red. "Can I presume that you will be meeting in the future?" 

Anthony Goldstein spoke up importantly. "Oh yes. We're keeping the meetings irregular, you see, throw Umbridge off the scent, as it were. It's a bit funny," he added, "they all seem quite sure that they're the first ones to come up with the idea of a secret society within the school..." 

Everybody laughed, except, of course, for Deirdre. 

"And they will continue to think so," she said severely. "The three of you, in the meantime-" She looked at Cho, Anthony and Michael Corner. "-will continue to report on what goes on at these meetings. If it ever escalates beyond private lessons, I expect to be informed." 

"Of course," said Anthony proudly, as Michael rolled his eyes. 

"I think Potter and Cho are going to be doing some private lessons..." Kiesha broke in impishly, but Deirdre silenced her with a glare. 

"I'll write you out a list of members," said Cho, her blush flaring up again. "We've a name now as well. The D.A." 

The Slytherins glanced at each other. 

Michael Corner leveled them with a look. "It stands for Dumbledore's Army," he said defensively. "And my girlfriend made up the name." 

"Did she?" said Melissa carelessly. She turned to Deirdre. "I'm not sure we can be much help in keeping tabs on this "D.A." There's not a Slytherin among them." 

"Because none were _invited_," Michael thought it prudent to mention. 

"Which is proof of the inherent distrust and prejudice shown toward our house," Melissa continued without a pause. 

Michael looked irritated. 

"Three of you are prefects," said Deirdre. "As are Anthony and myself. It won't be difficult to manipulate the after-curfews hallway patrol schedule so that only we are assigned to that particular hallway." 

Melissa nodded. Mervin, who had never enjoyed his prefect duties to begin with, sighed heavily and sank into his chair. 

"It is in the best interest of the school, not to mention our members in the D.A.," said Deirdre, "that the defense club continues unmolested. Consider it our duty to protect them from discovery." 

She sounded so much like Richard just then that Beth threw back her head and laughed. 

Deirdre fixed her gaze on her. "Yes?" 

"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone." 

"What did I tell you?" said Kiesha. "Mad-Eye Moody." 

Deirdre glared. "Is there any further business to share with our guests?" 

There was none. As always, the Society made their way to the visitor's exit and dropped back down to the Entrance Hall, leaving the Guild to speak amongst themselves. 

They crept back to the common room without incident. After all ten had climbed inside, Melissa closed the door tightly behind them. Then she said, in a strangely strangled voice, "Potter's club is called the D.A." 

"Dorks Anonymous," said Mervin instantly, his mouth twitching. 

"Dweeb Association," said Beth, struggling against a smile. 

"Desperately Average," interjected Blaise, covering her mouth. 

"Dam-" began Evan, but Herne stopped him. 

"Oh, but we mustn't mock," Melissa said, now obviously struggling to speak, "Michael's _girlfriend_ made it up." 

The Society smothered their laughter, there in the doorway of the common room. Halfway across the castle, the Guild of the Eagle was discussing topics too sensitive to share with the Slytherins; but it was satisfying to know that they were being secretly mocked while they did it. 

-'-'-

In a way, Beth was pleased to not be a part of this "Dumbledore's Army": she was already neck-deep in schoolwork. 

The teachers, for all their harping about the importance of the N.E.W.T.s, did not seem to understand how much their own assignments were taking away from studying for them. Beth herself was barely a tenth of the way through the primer, despite working through nearly every History of Magic and D.A.D.A. class. (Melissa was a quarter of the way through, and also insufferable.) When she was working on the N.E.W.T.s she would think about her regular classwork; while doing her classwork, her mind invariably turned back to the N.E.W.T.s. In between times, there was her work for Snape, getting progressively harder as the lower classes moved on to more complicated potions. It made it very hard to get anything done. 

Beth, Melissa and Bruce took to studying by themselves at a table in the common room - a six-seater, though they needed the extra space, and were able to take it by virtue of their seniority (not to mention Melissa's prefect status and Bruce's build). Daily, the table was scattered with textbooks, scrolls and loose equipment: a potted plant for Herbology, the occasional mess of bird entrails for Divination. 

One cozy evening in mid-October found the three of them enmeshed in an essay for Flitwick, none of them having mastered the Messenger Spell from the day before. The spell was intended to charm a bottle to receive the speaker's words so that, when uncorked, it would deliver the spoken message to a recipient. Beth's bottle hadn't made a peep. Bruce's got garbled somewhere along the line and recorded his message in Russian (although he was the only one present who knew Russian, so he may have been fibbing). Melissa's came out a mess of static. 

That kind of dramatic failure had set them up for a three-foot essay on the theory; however, their textbooks didn't have enough material to fill that kind of parchment, so Beth volunteered to sweet-talk Pince into helping them while the other two held down the table. She returned laden with books. As she approached the table, however, she saw the pair of them bent together, backs to the common room, speaking in low tones. She slowed down to eavesdrop. 

"I mean it's not _normal_ to be so - so blithe about it..." 

"Maybe she's still in shock," came Bruce's voice, low and concerned. "I mean, I still can't believe ... how was she at the funeral?" 

"Distant," said Melissa. "I would have thought ... I expected us to have talked about it by now. But since then she's barely mentioned it. It's almost as if..." She paused, then started again. "It's almost as if she never thinks about it all." 

Bruce sighed. 

It was obvious what they were talking about. Beth froze to the spot. In a way, she wanted to hear what they had to say. 

"And then there's Cho Chang," Melissa went on. "She lost Cedric, and she's a wreck - you can't see it all the time of course, but sometimes at meals, or in the bathrooms, or in the hallways, and Herne tells me she even cries in class sometimes ... I know, I know, I wouldn't expect Beth to be quite so weepy..." She seemed to be reacting to Bruce's expression. "But remember fifth year, with the banshee and her brother's trial and her father's arrest and everything? She was stressed, and you could _tell_." 

Beth thought it was time to put this conversation to an end. She gathered her textbooks to her chest and bustled up to her chair as if she hadn't heard a word. 

"Good news," she said, taking a perverse inward delight at the way Bruce and Melissa were trying to pretend they hadn't been talking about her, "Pince gave me four or five good ones ... and this one's illegal, but she let me check it out anyway." She dumped the books onto the table, flopped into a seat and started flipping through one of them. 

"Great," said Bruce, much too loudly. "That's good of her." 

"So have you two gotten very far?" said Beth innocently. 

"We've been talking about N.E.W.T.s instead," said Melissa. She was a better liar than Bruce. "Has your Herbology been going well?" She was also adept at subject-changing. 

"All right." There was another lie. Beth knew that Herbology was important to an alchemist, and she knew it was supposed to be easy, but she just couldn't make herself care. "Come on. Let's get back to this essay." 

The glance exchanged between Bruce and Melissa was not lost on her. 

Despite it all, the month plodded on without major event. The Society continued to meet the Guild in their tower on Tuesday nights. Wednesday afternoons were given to the N.E.W.T.s practices, at which Patricia Stimpson continued to faint with amazing regularity. Then in the last week of October, Bruce failed to show up for the weekly N.E.W.T.s practice session. 

"This can mean only one thing," said Beth. 

Melissa nodded darkly. "Quidditch season." 

The first game was, as always, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, to be played two weeks into November. Montague started getting the team up early for before-school practices, and had been seen prowling the common room to be sure they got to bed on time. Again, Beth had to admit to herself that his leadership of the team was not all bad. He may have been cocky, coarse, and uncaring, but he was beating the Quidditch players into great shape. 

The Halloween feast was held on a delightfully overcast Friday night. The seventh-years enjoyed themselves immensely, picking around the food and making snarky comments on the decorations. After the dancing skeletons - reprising their highly successful floor show from fourth year - clattered away for the evening to wild applause, Dumbledore sent them all to bed. 

"Just think," said Melissa, on the way back to the dorms, "a year ago, we were greeting the Durmstrang students for the first time." 

"It feels like forever," said Beth truthfully. So much had happened in the meantime. "You got into an argument with Andrei Gregorovich." 

"Right..." Melissa blushed fervently. "Well - Josef Poliakoff was all excited to be eating dinner with you, remember? And he kept telling stories ... I had never seen Viktor Krum smiling until then..." 

"Karkaroff kept babying him." 

They reached their dormitory and got ready for bed, each absorbed in her own memories. The previous year, Beth thought, had been easier - true, there was her Alchemy project, and so much time spent with Diggory, and all year she had to watch Gypsy fawning over Richard, but there hadn't been so much hanging over their heads all the time. There hadn't been as much at stake. 

She lay back against the soft cotton sheets. For once, it was nice to have a quiet Halloween. She closed her eyes. 

Pain shot up her arm. 

Beth's eyes flew open. Sitting straight up in bed, she wrenched back the sleeve of her nightgown and stared at her forearm. The dark skull, which usually glowed red against her pale skin, was burning black. 

There was no time to think; the pain of the Dark Mark would have inhibited thought anyway. Beth tumbled out of bed and began tugging on her clothes. Melissa, in the next bed over, peeked out from between the canopies with a groggy expression. "Whassa matter, troll in the dungeons?" 

"I have to leave," Beth hissed, wrapping her school cloak around her shoulders. "I'll be back by morning." 

"Suit yourself," said Melissa sleepily, and rolled back over. 

Pulling up the hood of her cloak, Beth slipped out of the dark bedroom. 

She crept down the hall to the common room. She could still see tiny embers twinkling in the fireplace, and faint candlelight from the sconces that lined the far wall. She would use the tunnel to the grounds and then go through the gate to Apparate; but she must be swift, when the Dark Lord called it did not do to tarry... 

She took one step into the common room and stopped. 

Someone was there. 

A hood was pulled aside and Evan Wilkes' fathomless eyes stared into hers. Of course; Evan couldn't Apparate himself yet. Wordlessly, they moved to an edge of the common room and shifted an armchair so that a corner of the rug could be turned back. "_Lettus outtathis madhaus_." Stone shifted like quicksilver; a gaping hole bubbled open. They slipped into the tunnel and concealed its entrance with the rug. 

Through the stone tunnel lit blue by wandlight; upward to the dewy grounds under a cold crescent moon. Beth and Evan ran along the treeline until they passed through the great iron gates. 

"_Creo persona_." 

A mask fell over each of their faces. 

"_Ceteris paribus_." Gripping Evan's hands in hers, Beth closed her eyes and thought of the graveyard. A heartbeat later, with a crack like the report of a pistol, the street was empty. 

-'-'-

A chilly harvest wind brushed the leaning tombstones. 

An enormous snake glided in between the grave markers, her scales rasping on the ancient slabs of slate. She was not happy to be here. The chill of October leached into her cold blood, making her sluggish and crabby. A clear night like this would have been perfect for stalking rats, or slithering down burrows after naive young rabbits - or better, inside the House curled in front of the fire, languorously toasting her shining diamond-pattern coils. Still, she thought, her friend the man-and-rat would be there, as well as the man-and-snake she had nursed with her venom. The man-and-snake was her child, in a way, but he was also her Master, and she had seen him become fierce. No, if the Master wanted her to brave the cold of Halloween, she would only obey. 

Cracks and snaps began to clutter out the night sounds, and the snake wound herself around a yew tree and coiled comfortably among its branches. She knew they would be coming, of course - they always did, when the Master grabbed her friend's arm like that. But they were unpleasant, and always reeked of fear. She found she preferred to watch from afar and idly speculate on which would be the tastiest. 

The sporadic popping noise speckled the night, like slow bubbles sliding one by one to the surface of a lake. The snake settled in and watched as dark-hooded men began to appear willy-nilly among the gravestones. She flicked her tongue derisively and tasted the stench of servility. 

On the whole, she much preferred rats. 

-'-'-

Beth and Evan whirled in space, hands linked, before their feet settled into the cool dewy grass of the Little Hangleton churchyard. Already dozens of hooded figures were winding through the tombstones to the meeting place. Quickly and silently, they took their places in the growing circle. Beth almost felt as if she had grown used to the routine. 

The children of the Dark Lord came together from all corners of the graveyard to form a black ring amid the white and rotting tombs. 

Like a lens coming into focus, the tall black figure emerged from the air to stand quietly amid them. He made no move and said not a word, yet drew their attention like a black hole - an undeniable force. Around him, the formation grew until the gaps were closed and his servants stood shoulder-to-shoulder, masked and motionless, tense in anticipation. 

The sky crackled. 

The Dark Lord raised both his hands and the air around him shimmered. Above one palm there appeared a bronze goblet, glinting red under the moon; above the other, a glimmering knife. The two floated gently above his hands for several moments - then, with a flick of his fingers, the pair careened across the circle into the waiting hands of a cloaked Death Eater opposite his Lord. 

"The strongest bonds," said the Dark Lord. 

The hooded man gripped the knife in one hand, the goblet in the other. In one swift jerking motion, he ran his thumb over the edge of the blade and held it over the rim of the goblet. Thick red drops trickled into the cup. 

He passed the object to the right. The same ritual was performed in another's hands. 

Soon the knife's edge was slick with blood, and the goblet sticky from being passed from wounded to wounded. When the objects came to Beth, she clenched her teeth and slashed her thumb as had those before her. She felt dizzy and disconnected; the things around her made no sense, they were surreal as a dream; and how could one argue with a dream? 

The stars wobbled in their paths. 

When the knife and cup came again to that first hooded man, the Dark Lord stretched out his hands again, and they came soaring into his grasp. The knife vanished at his touch. He raised the goblet towards them - a macabre toast. 

"The strongest bonds ... on the strongest night..." 

He tilted back his head and drank the goblet dry. 

Beth felt a strange warmth swell at the center of her arm and start to spread out, flowing through her veins, reaching out to the edges of her body. She felt her face flush; little beads of sweat began to form along her hairline under the stifling mask. The slash on her thumb pulled apart and began to bleed anew. 

The air seemed to quake under a power that Beth had never seen nor dreamt of. The Dark Lord tossed the empty goblet into the midst of them and then extended a hand: the cup evaporated before it hit the ground. Lightning crossed the clear, cloudless sky. The trees began to quiver without a breeze. 

"My true family," said the Dark Lord, but there was no fondness in his voice - only greed, ownership, and pride. "You will be mine in life and death. You will suffer and die in my name. But those who are true - you will share the glory ... the wealth ... and the _unfettered power_ that will be my interminable reign!" 

Lightning struck again, but Beth heard no thunder. It was swallowed in the roar of want and hate that rose from the ring of Dark. She could not tell, and would never know, whether her own voice joined it. 

-'-'-

The humans broke from their circle and vanished, one by one, into the air. All the better, the snake thought. She wasn't fond of them. 

A pair of them, still masked, came toward her tree and joined hands; but on catching sight of her they broke apart and looked up into the tree where she curled comfortably. The snake tasted the air curiously. They were very familiar... Of course! These were the two young ones from her master's second birth. 

The boy reached up a hand and chucked her under the chin. He smelled like her home, where she had been raised. "Hullo, Gina." She flicked her tongue, nostalgically basking in the smell. 

The girl, too, raised her hand and stroked the snake's head. "Hi, Gina." The slitted eyes closed in pleasure. This was a delightful surprise. She'd forgotten, in the thrill of open spaces and the freedom to eat whatever she could catch, how nice it had been surrounded by the young humans. 

The human hand was retracted. The two young ones bent together, bid their farewell, and joined hands once again. "_Ceteris paribus_." There was a sharp sound, a cold breeze from no cloud, and the two of them became gone. 

Gina slunk down the trunk of the tree and slithered across the graveyard. Her master was finished for the evening. Perhaps he would have saved her some of the delicious lifejuice she had smelled from so far away. Perhaps he would want to stroke her head and mutter words sweet with anger and ambition. 

Anyway, he would probably light the fireplace; and as far as Gina was concerned, that was all she needed to make it a good evening. 

-'-'-

Beth woke up feeling as exhausted as if she had never slept. It was a quiet Saturday; she lay in bed blinking up at the canopy for another hour or so, wanting desperately to go back to sleep. When that didn't work, she grudgingly rolled out of bed and yanked on a dressing robe before stumbling to the powder room. 

Melissa was already there, peering closely into the mirror with her teeth in a grimace. 

"I think my teeth have gone yellow from too much coffee," she said, when she saw Beth. "Do you think my teeth are yellow?" She bared her teeth. 

"No more than ever," said Beth. She checked her own teeth in the mirror. They looked about the same as usual, despite the horrendous amounts of coffee she had been drinking lately. 

"So," said Melissa, squeezing out some toothpaste, "where did _you_ get off to last night?" 

"A little birdie," said Beth, rolling up her sleeves, "told me to show up for a meeting." She gestured to the Dark Mark and then got to washing her face. 

Melissa's jaw dropped. "No! Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You were half asleep. Besides, what would you have done anyway? Written me a doctor's excuse?" 

"That," said Melissa, "was uncalled for." She started brushing her teeth thoughtfully. "Well, did anything happen that we ought to know about?" 

Beth considered while drying her face. "No." The strange ceremony of blood was strictly Death-Eater related; and while it didn't seem exactly harmless, it was obviously nothing new. "I saw Gina," she corrected. "She's looking well." 

"I don't suppose you noticed any _people_ you recognized." 

"Now, _that_ was uncalled for," Beth retorted. "Nott was there. He's the only ... wait. There was Riggs." 

"Riggs," said Melissa through her teeth. She spat toothpaste into the sink. 

"He must have gotten the Dark Mark sometime this fall," Beth mused. "I didn't notice him in August..." 

"You had one in August too?" said Melissa, appalled. 

"They're going to happen a lot," said Beth crankily. "You'd better get used to it." 

"I'd just like to know if I need to worry about you dying!" 

"Our lord's too busy to even notice me." Beth wiped her hands, and then paused, struck by her own words. "I mean, the Dark Lord." 

Melissa stared at her for a moment. "You have access to Hogwarts," she said finally, "and you were dating the guy who took his Ledger. If he ever _does_ notice you, Beth..." 

"So far so good," said Beth brusquely, and left for the showers. 

They met back up in the powder room, drying their hair together without speaking. It had been like that a lot lately, Beth thought, with an unusual twinge of worry. Maybe she should spend more time talking to Melissa instead of clamming up. Maybe she ought to tell her about Richard... 

Too dangerous, Beth decided firmly. Two may keep a secret if one of them is dead. But it wasn't fair - the shadow of the Dark Lord had begun to encroach even on her closest friendships. 

They headed out to the common room together, still silent, but a cool, brash voice broke in from the corner: 

"Parson." 

Beth turned back at the sound of her name. Evan Wilkes lounged in one of the high-backed chairs. Judging by the mud on the hem of his robes, and by the circles under his eyes, she guessed he hadn't gone to bed after they got back. 

She and Melissa went up to him. "Filled her in already?" he asked Beth, nodding his head towards Melissa. 

"I only mentioned who we saw," she said, trying to indicate with her tone that there wasn't anything more to tell. 

"Did you mention who we _didn't_ see?" 

"Well, _no_," Beth shot back, "it would've taken too long to list them all." 

Evan gave her a genuine, appreciative grin, by which she knew she'd gotten in a zinger up to his standards. It vanished almost instantly as he addressed Melissa. 

"Umbridge wasn't there." 

"Oh!" Melissa's expression changed as she considered this. "Hmm. You're sure?" 

Evan regarded her almost pityingly. 

Beth thought back through the past few hours. "He's right," she said, surprised to realize it. "You'd know that figure anywhere. I never met anybody shaped like her. I suppose she could have been ... I don't know, under an illusion-" 

"She wasn't," Evan broke in coolly. "I put Stealth Sensors all around her rooms during the Halloween feast. Just in case." 

Beth remembered how Evan had met her in the common room, almost as if he had been expecting her. 

"She never left," Evan went on. "Believe me, when the Dark Lord calls you don't just say, 'Sorry, not tonight'. She may be crazy and evil, but the woman is no Death Eater." 

Melissa put her hands on her hips and stared at the floor, pondering. Finally she looked back up. 

"If Umbridge isn't working for the Dark Lord," she said slowly, "then all these decrees are her own idea." She shook her head. "I don't know whether to be relieved, or more worried than ever." 


	15. Down the Alley

**Chapter Fifteen: Down the Alley**

It took a long argument and a long time, but Melissa was eventually convinced that the Guild should be told about Professor Umbridge's non-Death Eater status. She agreed with Beth that they didn't need to explain how they found out, but it was Bruce who finally made up her mind. 

"If we don't tell them," Bruce said, with a meaningful glance at Beth, "they're eventually going to figure out a way to tell for themselves. Then they'll test everyone in the school. When they do..." He gestured at Beth, who impulsively laid a hand over her arm. 

In the end Melissa agreed, but with the stipulation that it be Evan who would pass on the news: he was looked on with such suspicion by the entire school, that having found out something like this couldn't much harm his reputation. Characteristically, they had no sooner popped through the floor of the Guild headquarters than Evan dropped into an armchair and declared: 

"Professor Umbridge is not a Death Eater." 

Deirdre fixed him with a sharp look. "I would ask you how you could be sure, but I know you won't tell me." 

Beth grinned. The Ravenclaw Chair already had Evan pretty well figured out. Evan cast her a smirk. 

"For the moment I am prepared to take you at your word," Deirdre told him, sounding as if she would be willing to revoke her trust at any moment. "That means that Umbridge's actions are either her own or Ministry-dictated. You will alert us if her status changes." 

Evan's interest had wandered. He did not reply. 

Deirdre cast an irritated glance at Melissa, who shook her head and said, "He's always like this." 

"It's the best news we've heard all year," Cho Chang commented. "I was almost afraid that You-Know-Who had got somebody into Hogwarts already." 

"Good news?" Anthony Goldstein spoke up disdainfully from the corner. "My dear girl, this only confirms that the Ministry will be no help in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." 

"My dear _boy_," Cho retorted, "I don't care if they don't help us so long as they don't help _him_." 

"I hardly think that will be the case," said Anthony, matching her tone, "as the Dark Lord has yet to strike." 

"_He killed Cedric_." 

The small library grew painfully quiet. Cho glared at Anthony; then, slowly, tears began to leak from her dark eyes and run down her cheeks. She covered her face and turned away. 

"Well," said Anthony, looking very uncomfortable. "Well, I - I do see your point, of course." 

"Cease and desist, Goldstein," Deirdre ordered. "Cho, do have a hanky." She pointed her wand at Cho Chang and a lacy-edged handkerchief exploded from the tip and landed in Cho's lap. The girl took it gratefully and blew her nose. "Corner, how goes the Defense club?" 

Michael, who was watching Cho, turned reluctantly back to address the Chair. "It's good. We've spent a lot of time on the Impediment Jinx, and the Reductor Curse as well - by the way, try not to run afoul of Parvati Patil. She's way too good at it." 

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Cho managed a smile past her hanky, at which Michael seemed very pleased. 

Mervin spoke up. "What are you all planning to ultimately do with the District Attorney - I'm sorry, _Dumbledore's Army?_" 

Many of the Slytherins guffawed; the Ravenclaws looked faintly offended, or at the least taken aback. 

"We are taking the opportunity to learn," said Anthony, looking irritated. "And - I suppose that if we are called to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we will be prepared." 

"You'll be prepared," said Mervin, looking him solidly in the eye. "But will you fight?" 

No one answered. 

-'-'-

That night, Beth dreamed about Josef Poliakoff. 

They were standing in the dungeons, mixing a potion that was the rancid pink of Professor Umbridge's favorite cardigan. Josef was telling her stories about the Guild. "They are an army too, you know," he told her, his Russian accent crystal-clear even in her dreams. The cauldron turned into a wooden model of the Durmstrang ship, which Beth picked up to admire. 

"Ve are all an army, Beth." 

"I don't want to fight," dream-Beth told him. 

Josef smiled. He leaned down to her ear, and whispered - 

.

"_Wake up, miss!_" 

Beth sat straight up in bed, her heart hammering. Whatever squeaky-voiced creature had spoken in her ear, it most certainly was not Josef Poliakoff. 

A creature roughly the size of a cat scrambled down to the foot of the bed. It reared up, unsteadily, and collapsed to one side. As it struggled to right itself, Beth recognized the small body and enormous ears: Richard's house-elf. 

"W-Wobbly." Beth pulled the covers up to her chin breathlessly. "Hi." 

The house-elf bowed until his nose touched the bedspread. "Wobbly brings a message from young master," he said in a highly theatrical whisper. "Very secret, very important. Wobbly is the only one he would trust with the message," he added importantly. 

"Oh." Beth scooted straighter up in bed. "What is it?" 

"_This._" 

Wobbly reached behind and then held out his open hands. Between them he held a small ceramic pig. 

Beth gazed dubiously at the colorful little hog. 

"Three o'clock on Thursday," whispered Wobbly. 

"Oh!" said Beth, suddenly understanding. "Oh, right. Where will it send me?" 

"Wobbly can't say, miss," said the house-elf apologetically, as Beth picked up the Portkey from his hands and looked it over. "Too secret to be said. Young sir will meet you. Very anxious," he added. 

Beth grinned. "Is he?" She patted the pig figurine on the head and dropped it into the pocket of her nightgown. 

"Has miss a message to send young master?" inquired Wobbly eagerly. 

Beth thought about it. Nothing she had to tell him was so pressing that it wouldn't hold for two days. "Tell him I can't wait." 

The house elf gave a smile of pure joy. "As you say, miss." He bowed at the waist. Halfway down he lost his balance and went toppling face-first into the coverlet; and it was in this manner that he faded out and vanished. 

Beth settled back into bed, slipping her hand into her pocket to feel the tiny pig-shaped Portkey. She wasn't sure why, but the thought that Richard was looking forward to seeing her made her smile. 

-'-'-

The following day, Wednesday, wasn't bad, but Thursday went very slowly. 

With the little ceramic pig weighing in her pocket, Beth found it hard to concentrate on her classes. Herbology, always a session of utter torment, seemed to stretch for hours. Defense Against the Dark Arts was even less bearable than usual. Lunch was interminable; even Potions, her favorite class, only seemed a distraction. She was going to meet Richard - nothing else came close in importance. 

Finally, she crammed her equipment into her cauldron and took off for the dormitories. She dropped her things and changed hastily into jeans and a sweater, throwing overtop her old cloak, the one from which she had painstakingly removed the Hogwarts crest. Grasping the pig tightly, she hurried outside to the broom shed. 

She had hardly waited for two minutes when she felt a familiar tug and the Portkey sent her whizzing through space. 

She landed on her rump in a heap of straw. 

Groaning, she picked herself up and looked around. High above her arched a raftered ceiling, with owls roosting on nearly every clear piece of outcropping. Feathers and pellets littered the thatched floor. A little girl stood nearby, clutching a tatty two-headed teddy bear. A broad shelf filled with wire and wicker cages separated them from a handful of other people, who could be heard beyond it but not seen. 

The little girl gazed up at her curiously, fingers in her mouth. 

"You fail your App-apation test?" 

"Portkey," Beth explained. She dropped the pig into her pocket and looked around. So this was the place "too secret to be said": Eeylops' Owl Emporium. Well, she thought, sighing, at least he didn't drop me in the middle of Trolls R Us. 

The little girl skittered away at the sound of her mother's voice, still looking back over her shoulder. Beth was left alone in the corner of the Emporium, staring up at the long rows of perches and many rotund owls flitting up and down, or hiding, headless, from the daytime sun. It was like a placid nursing home, Beth thought, with rows upon rows of mid-afternoon snoozers waiting to be woken for dinner. 

Something caught the corner of her eye. 

Very slowly, she turned slightly so that she could make out the thing in her vision: a tall figure, wrapped in a worn brown traveling cloak and hood, dressed in black, his face obscured by a faded green-and-silver scarf. He stood immobile in the corner, his faceless hood turned directly toward her. 

Beth turned around. 

"You're lucky Potions is over by three," she told the dark figure. "I might not have made it." 

"You wouldn't skive off for me?" said the face behind the scarf. 

"Potions? For _you?_" She smiled up at him. "Hi." 

"Hi yourself," said Richard. "Follow me." 

At the exit of the Owlery he turned and led her down an alley until they stood behind the row of shops; the crumbling brick, bins of trash, and close atmosphere ensured that they would not be disturbed. 

Richard pulled back the hood of his cloak. His hair was less well-cut than before, the angles of his face perhaps a little sharper, although he still wore the old, proud grin. Marring his face, however, and totally obscuring one eye, was a large leather patch. 

She let out a gasp involuntarily. "What _happened_ to you?" 

Richard looked puzzled for a moment; then he let out a laugh. "This?" he said, pointing to the eye patch. He pulled it off to reveal a perfectly healthy eye. 

Beth smacked him in the arm. "You could have warned me it was just a disguise!" 

"It's not just a disguise," said Richard eagerly, holding it out. "Put it on. Just try it," he said impatiently, when she hesitated. "No, not like that, you have to keep your eye open - that's it, loop the band behind your ear ... there you go... Now - what do you see?" 

Beth opened both eyes. "You." Something else was happening, though ... the inside of the patch was lightening like a slow television screen. There wasn't movement exactly, but a sort of image ... a sort of vision ... the inside of a room took shape in front of her covered eye. She squinted a little to make it out - her jaw dropped. 

"The crypt!" 

"Right," said Richard smugly. "There's an amulet fixed to the upper corner of the crypt facing the wall of names. It beams the image directly back to the patch. He can see us at any time-" There was no need to specify who "he" meant. "-but I can see if he's doing it." 

Beth took off the eye patch and handed it back. "That's really brilliant," she said, genuinely impressed. 

"Couple of the alumni helped me cook it up," said Richard modestly, readjusting the patch over his right eye. "Dave Gudgeon's the one who went into the crypt to set up the amulet." 

"Dave Gudgeon is crazy," Beth noted. 

"He's got nerve," Richard agreed. "And Dorothea Fox - remember her? A former president - somehow got me a schematic of the walls, so I can tell roughly who's being spied on." 

To hear Richard speak casually about plotting and planning was more of a relief than Beth had expected. It was almost like the old days. 

"It sounds like things are going well." 

"Really well," said Richard eagerly. "I've made contact with a dozen alumni I'm sure I can trust. I work out of my flat at night and for cover I've got a job during the day." 

"A _job?_" That hadn't even crossed her mind. "What on earth do you do?" 

"I work in a potions shop, actually," said Richard, with a bashful grin. "Just odd jobs, really. Sweep the place, carry things, watch for shoplifters, make sure nobody drops a bottle of Stinksap or something." 

"Stimulating work," Beth grinned. 

"It's not at all bad," said Richard indignantly. "It's not the sort of thing I've ever done before. And my boss is really excellent. You'll meet him," he added. "I want to pick up some things at the shop before we head back to my flat. Now, remember not to call me by my name while we're there," he warned her. "I've told him my name is Rob." 

"And there's no chance he'll recognize either of us?" Beth said. She thought Richard looked a great deal like his father. 

To her surprise, Richard grinned. "No chance at all." 

Putting up his hood and wrapping his scarf around his face again, he led Beth down Diagon Alley, past the shops and stores, through the somewhat light crowd of Thursday afternoon. Beth wished she'd brought a scarf of her own; she felt distinctly dodgy, and kept looking over her shoulder as if certain that somebody would realize she was supposed to be in school. 

Finally they reached a steep, forbidding staircase descending into a murky stone alleyway. Beth glanced at the sign on the wall and shook her head. 

"Knockturn Alley. I should have guessed." 

"You should have," Richard agreed. "It's the only place to go on the lam. Not so bad once you're used to it." 

"Except for the murderers all over the place," said Beth, although she knew you were just as likely to run into a Death Eater in Hogwarts these days. 

She followed him down into the alley. The stone walls, which had gleamed on the main street of Diagon Alley, crumbled and rotted along the dark, narrow way. The cobblestones were uneven. Here and there, the row of dingy shops was broken up with a seedy pub. Beth stuck her hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around her wand, just in case. 

Down a branching alley, Richard came to a halt before a small canopied shop with an ancient show window which read simply "Brews" in faded gold letters. Richard gave two brisk knocks before pushing open the door. A bell tinkled at their entrance. 

Behind the counter, a hunched man was arranging the contents of a shelf behind him. There was a cleaning rag slung over one shoulder. He didn't bother to turn around; it was as if he already knew who had come in. He called: 

"Rob, me china. Brought a customer, did you?" 

"Hosea, this is Beth," Richard said. "She's a friend. A good friend." He winked at Beth. 

The man behind the counter turned his face toward them: an old face, tan and weathered, but very sharp and intelligent, with a great humor around the eyes and mouth. Both his eyes were the solid, creamy blue of the blind. 

"It's nice to meet you," said Beth. 

She held out her hand, then drew it back, realizing he couldn't see it - but the old man thrust out his own gnarled hand and she shook it, gratefully. 

"Well met," he said, grinning a bit. "Just a good friend, is she, Rob?" 

"Er-" Richard turned pink and Beth bit her lip against a laugh. 

"Rob's a good man," Hosea said. "Good worker. Bit of a butterfinger, truth be told..." 

Richard bobbed his head in embarrassed admission. "That's why he keeps me sweeping the floor most of the time. And watching the customers - you'll never believe what people think they can get away with down here." 

Hosea was nodding. "I am no fool, miss, but it does good to have a sighted chap in the corner, some days." 

Beth couldn't help herself. "So you hired a guy with an eye patch?" 

"Aye, that's it - two men in the shop, and only one eye betwixt them!" Hosea roared with laughter. 

"And yet he always seems to know when I'm bunking off," said Richard. 

"Now, Rob," said Hosea, wagging a finger, "it doesn't take but one ear to hear a snore." 

"You are wise beyond your years," Richard intoned. "Your many, many, long, musty years-" 

"Off with you!" growled Hosea, chuckling. "No doubt you'll be wanting to take the lady someplace more respectable." 

"Nonsense, they'd never let me in anyplace respectable. I'm just here to pick up my things-" Richard scooted around the counter and retrieved a canvas knapsack from the floor. "-and we'll leave you to business. Are you going to need help mixing up the Lethe Elixir tonight?" 

Hosea waved a hand dismissively. "Not tonight, me boy, better to work alone than with an assistant who wishes he were elsewhere. Besides, delicate stuff that. Strongest forgetfulness potion in the world. Splash that and who knows how you'll end up. You two have a good time now. Pleasure to meet you, miss," he added, smiling in Beth's general direction. 

"Nice to meet you too." 

"Put up your hood before we go back in the street," Richard advised, as the bell jangled above them. "Basic Knockturn precaution..." 

He led her down the alley in the opposite direction from which they had come, away from Diagon Alley and into the oppressive, winding streets of Knockturn Alley. Richard kept a firm hand on her shoulder. Whether it was his faded Slytherin scarf or merely his height and bearing, something about them accorded a measure of respect from passing witches and wizards; at least, no one jostled them too badly or cast them more than a sly appraising glance. 

By then they were so deep into Knockturn Alley that the slums stretched out endlessly in all directions. Everything was chipping paint, rusty iron, and warped wood. Finally Richard slowed and stopped. "Left," he murmured. 

Beth turned. Before her stood a pair of houses, split by three planks of fencing, each shabbier than the other. 

Richard approached the two, but didn't turn toward one or the other. Instead, he went straight up to the fence and put a hand on the middle plank. The twisted wood bore an equally twisted knothole near the top. Richard pulled out his key - the one Beth had thought looked like an iron lollipop. 

"Now, hold on to me." 

Beth put her hands around Richard's elbow. He inserted his iron key into the knothole. 

There was a rush of warm wind from below them; then it died out. 

Richard turned the key. 

Without warning, the two houses sprang apart as a high, dilapidated stone building expanded between them, pushing both out of the way. Beth hung on tightly to Richard's arm as the structure grew to its full size, to finally display an overbearing, flat-fronted apartment building with shutters over the many barren windows. 

Richard gave the key another half-turn and the door creaked open. Nodding encouragingly to Beth, he pushed inside, while she, almost afraid to let go, came with him. 

The hallway she walked into had the dry, cramped feel of prior centuries. The rich magenta carpet was threadbare; a few small paintings hung skewed on the wall, as if no one ever bothered to look at them. Cobwebs filled in the corners; here and there a feeble lamp was lit, struggling to shine past the cloudy glass bulbs. Every few yards, a bare wooden door nestled tightly into the wall. Every door was closed. 

The front door slammed shut behind them and Beth jumped. Richard glanced over at her in amusement. "Come on, I'm upstairs," he said cheerfully, and led her down the hall to a rickety wooden staircase. 

"You have a lot of neighbors," Beth noted, trying not to fall through the warping stairs. 

"Yes, though I don't see much of them. Most of them are ... let's say this isn't a place you'd live if you're hankering to be found." 

"Criminals." 

"Yes, largely," Richard agreed. He led her down another corridor, this one carpeted in worn blue velvet. "Of course they'll all claim innocence. But you've also got some runaways, a few pairs of adulterers - they never stay long - there's one poor fellow who's here to avoid a duel ... any reason you can think of. Afternoon, Ludo," he said to a large, round-faced man hurrying by. 

"Afternoon," the fellow muttered back, and scurried downstairs. 

Beth stared after him. "Wasn't that ?" 

Richard nodded, a glint in his eye. "Ludo Bagman. He's been here since the end of the Triwizard Tournament - word is he couldn't pay off his gambling debts to the goblins. Not such a bad fellow. Always in the mood for a card game." 

"Glad to see you're making friends," said Beth, shooting him a wry look. 

"Here we are." Richard unlocked the door and swung it open. He hesitated. "It's a bit ... erm, cluttered..." 

"It can't be that bad," said Beth, and followed him inside. 

She stopped and stared. 

It was incredible how filthy the room had gotten in so short a time. Every shelf in the kitchen was empty; a handful of dirty bowls and spoons cluttered the sink. Books and clothes littered the floor - an old Slytherin scarf was tossed across the back of the only chair in the apartment. A worn patch in front of the window attested to the fact that Richard's pacing habit had worsened. Richard's owl Nero, perched on what appeared to be a dead potted tree, hooted bleakly from the corner and hid his head farther beneath his wing. Richard shrugged out of his cloak and went to drop it beside a shabby dining room table that was piled two feet high with parchments. 

"Not doing so well without a house elf, are we?" said Beth crisply, catching Richard's cloak before it could hit the floor. She slung the cloak over the back of the chair, beside the scarf. 

Richard gave a bashful shrug. "It just sort of piles up," he said, gesturing helplessly around him. 

"Yes, things do tend to do that when they're put on top of each other." She started compulsively tapping the parchments into even piles. 

"Leave it like that," said Richard, gently pulling her hands away from the mess. "Wobbly wanted to come along, but you know it would be far too suspicious if he disappeared..." 

"He was really excited that you let him bring me the Portkey." 

"Yeah," Richard said fondly, still holding onto both her hands. "He's so loyal. We sort of grew up together. I do miss him." He cast her a faint smile. "You too." 

"Nah, I don't really miss Wobbly," Beth teased, grinning up at him - but then Richard found an effective way of silencing her which, Beth admitted, was more fun than talking anyway. 

-'-'-

Safely behind a door which Richard swore was soundproof and hexed three ways from Sunday, they could finally sit and talk about the most pressing thing on their minds: the rise of the Dark Lord, and the Society's part in it. 

"I'm still trying to feel out the alumni," Richard told her, seated across from her at the cluttered table. "There are a good few on our side, but there are plenty who would be ready to follow the Dark Lord at the drop of a hat - and plenty more who we're not sure about." 

"Better safe than sorry," Beth agreed. "I wish the Society at Hogwarts could be doing more to help. But we only hear hints. The thing in the Prophet about the guy who tried to break into the Department of Mysteries-" Richard nodded thoughtfully at the memory. "-and Artaxerxes Manning, losing a weekend's worth of memory." 

Richard paused. "How did you hear about that?" he asked, his voice suddenly testy. 

"Grubbly-Plank." Beth didn't like the way his tone had changed. "Why?" 

Richard relaxed. "I don't want that story getting out," he admitted. "If people start linking them, the Society could be exposed, and that's not good for anybody." 

Beth heard what Richard didn't say. "It happened to _more_ of them?" 

Richard cast her a grim glance. 

"How many?" 

"Five so far." He gestured to the piles of parchments on the table. "Just a few hours at a time. And that's not all he's doing. He moved Dell to the Daily Prophet. He sent Nott to see Mr. Ollivander - has Melissa told you- and ordered two dozen wands. No pay, no fitting, no clue who's going to be using them. He ordered Dorothea Fox to accept a position on the Wizengamot that one of Dumbledore's supporters left vacant. He had Dave Gudgeon transfer from a dragon reserve in Romania to the one in Wales. Artaxerxes Manning was moved from the Ludicrous Patents Office to the Obliviators - do you see what he's doing?" 

"He's putting us in position," said Beth bleakly. 

"Like pieces on a chessboard." He fiddled with a broken quill lying on the table. "And there's Bode." 

"Bode?" Beth hadn't heard anything about the Unspeakable since she had seen him at the meeting in July. "What happened to him?" 

Richard hesitated. "He's insane." 

Beth laughed. "Well, I _knew_ that." 

"No, really insane," said Richard uncomfortably, and Beth stopped laughing. "Something happened to him. Something went wrong ... he's babbling, he can't walk straight ... they've got him in a special ward in St. Mungo's." 

"Oh." A cold dread settled on Beth's chest. "What happened?" 

Richard sighed. There was both sadness and frustration in the sound. "I don't know," he said, "but I have an inkling who's responsible." 

Beth looked down at her hands. "I wish I could tell you more about what he's up to. The Death Eaters have had two meeting since you died, and no clues to his plans. I don't think he trusts us as a group; he just seems to assign things individually. And now if he's _kidnapping_ the alumni-" 

"He always brings them back safe," Richard said. "He can't risk a disappearance that would cause a fuss." 

"I still don't like it," said Beth, frowning. "And his other actions don't all make sense. I mean - why harm Bode, of all people? Why would he want two dozen wands when he's got his own?" 

"Well, Mr. Ollivander suspects he's looking for something that suits him, but won't clash with Potter's again," Richard sighed. "Who knows what he'll do with the leftovers. Build up an arsenal, I suppose." 

"For his army." That brought something to mind. "I've seen Riggs." 

Richard sat up in surprise. "Have you!" 

"He all but admitted that he's working directly for the Dark Lord," said Beth. "He wanted to know where the Ledger was." She didn't mention that he had threatened her. 

To her surprise, Richard threw back his head and let out an explosive "_Ha!_" 

"Didn't I tell you?" he said, eyes gleaming. "It fooled them all. They can interrogate every member one by one, and they'll never get near it. His arsenal isn't worth half the Ledger." 

Beth didn't like the way he made light of the situation, and after the Halloween ceremony of blood, she suspected that the Dark Lord's arsenal was stronger than Richard thought. "Where've you got it now?" 

Richard sobered quickly. "I can't tell you exactly, that's a liability. No offense." 

"No offense." There was no lack of trust, only the acknowledgement of dangerous outside forces. 

"It's safe," Richard assured her. "And I'm being careful!" he added, laughing, before she could say it. "A seedy hotbed of crime in the middle of the worst part of magical London - what could be a better place to hide, than next door to my enemies?" 

Beth wished she could share his confidence. 

-'-'-

Beth stayed for dinner, which consisted of tinned soup boiled over a wood-burning stove, and they remained at the table chatting until within an hour of sundown. Beth admitted to herself that she had been worried about the conversation - after so much time apart, what could they have to talk about? Her fears were unfounded. It was as if they had never been apart. Once or twice they picked up threads of conversation that they had started months before, without noticing. Richard told her stories about his job, the alumni, and the interesting people he ran into down Knockturn Alley; Beth told him about Professor Umbridge, goings-on around school, and the Guild. That last subject almost sent Richard to pieces. 

"The whole time, they've been spying on us? What do they know? Did they know we went to Azkaban? And Durmstrang? What about Dell? Oh no - do they know about Audra?" 

"Easy, Rich. I don't think they know much." Beth blew over the top of her cracked teacup and sent a faint wisp of steam in his direction. "They knew who we were, but not what was going on. I think they're still afraid of us," she added. 

"They ought to be," Richard said, stirring his own tea distractedly. "Still ... if Dumbledore put them onto us..." 

"Apparently he thought we'd help each other," Beth told him. "But none of us really trust the others." 

"That's not a surprise," Richard said. "I think Dumbledore's a bit optimistic about people getting along." It was the first time she had ever heard him criticize the Headmaster. 

"He's still got us in class with the Gryffindors," Beth agreed. 

Richard gave a lopsided grin. "That's not optimistic, it's just plain daft." 

That led to reminiscences of fights with Gryffindors past, and stories of classes gone badly awry. Though they sat at a battered table in a filthy building full of shady men and dodgy dealings, hiding from the darkest forces imaginable, Beth couldn't think of another place she'd rather be. 

-'-'-

Richard escorted her to the mouth of Knockturn Alley; from there, she turned into Diagon Alley and walked for several blocks before taking a Floo station back to Hogsmeade. Night had already fallen, but the street lamps glowed warmly and all the businesses were still bustling, so Beth was able to slip into the Honeydukes basement and take the tunnel back into Hogwarts, to come out at the statue of the one-eyed witch. 

Halfway down the tunnel, she stopped. 

"_Bugger!_" 

She still had the ring from Richard's mother around her neck. 

"The one time I have a chance to give it back-" she muttered to herself, letting her fingers close around it. Well, there would be other times, she supposed. After all, she didn't exactly mind carrying it around. Sometimes it was nice to feel that something of Richard's was nearby... 

She broke into a grin. And sometimes, it was nice to have Richard himself. 

-'-'-

Beth spent the rest of the week in a strange oscillation of emotions. 

The joy of seeing Richard carried her through the days, but the things he had told her came back in the dark of night. Before, the Dark Lord had seemed inactive: a deadly spider, but still waiting at the center of his web. Now she knew that he had been busily spinning since his return, entangling more and more of the Society. How long would it be before she and her friends also fell into his trap? 

As no one else in Hogwarts knew that Richard was still alive, Beth was forced to keep all this new knowledge to herself. It was all right for the moment, she decided. They were safe within the castle. She would warn the Society before they left for Christmas break, possibly even recommend that they stay at Hogwarts, but she would say nothing until then - and she would never tell where she heard the news. 

So the Society and the Guild continued to occupy themselves with the smaller, less ominous doings which they knew. That Tuesday they spoke again of the High Inquisitor, and her relation to the Dark Lord. 

"So you told Dumbledore that Umbridge isn't a Death Eater?" asked Melissa anxiously, practically as soon as they had popped through the floor into the small Ravenclaw library. 

"Yes," said Deirdre. 

"And...?" 

"He was already aware of it, but he thanked us for taking the time." 

"You know, that's exactly what happened all through fifth year," Melissa sighed. Her eyes widened as if she'd had a sudden startling thought. "You didn't mention us, did you?" 

"Of course not," snapped Deirdre. "Thought I daresay he would suspect your involvement. You must learn to trust us, Ollivander." 

"Easier said," said Melissa, "than done." 


	16. Beautiful Creatures and Bad Omens

**Chapter Sixteen: Beautiful Creatures and Bad Omens**

Going to meet Richard was easily the most exciting thing that had happened to Beth all year, but the rest of the school was gearing up for something even more serious: the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch game. 

It was as if somebody had reached down and shuffled the priorities of everyone in the school. The first match of the season, and the most hotly contested - it started off the season with a jolt. From the players to the professors, everyone seemed to have a stake in the outcome. 

"Give you two to one odds on Gryffindor," Cova Lynn offered, the Tuesday before the game. 

Bruce rolled his eyes and politely but firmly declined. 

The team became inseparable. Bruce was hardly ever seen without one of the other six players; in the evenings when Gryffindor had won the pitch-possession contest, he hunkered down with Aaron and Warrington trying to catch up on overdue homework. They ate together at every meal. 

Montague took to giving them pep talks at lunch. 

"You two. Where's the best place for a bludger?" 

Crabbe and Goyle looked at him blankly for a moment, then exchanged vacant glances. 

Draco Malfoy spoke for them. "Impacting Potter's head." 

"That's it." Montague clapped him on the back. "You, you get that Snitch if you have to pry it from Potter's cold dead fingers, understood?" 

"Perfectly," said Draco, with a satisfied smile. 

"Pucey, I don't want to see the Quaffle in the hands of a Gryffindor for two seconds - run into them, kick it, hex them, I don't care." 

Aaron nodded excitedly. 

"Warrington. If Potter comes near you..." 

Warrington smacked a huge fist into his other hand. "I'll knock him off his broom!" he boomed. 

"Good boy," purred Antigone. 

"Exactly," Montague said, patting him on the back. "You're just the fellow for the job. Have some more eggs. Builds muscle mass. And _you_." 

He paused behind Bruce's chair. 

"Just remember to show up, and we'll all be happy." 

Bruce's expression, which had been hovering between tolerance and skepticism, grew very fixed. 

Montague threw back his head and laughed. The rest of the team joined him. 

"You're too tense, Bletchley," Montague advised, slapping him on the shoulder. 

Bruce let out an empty "Heh," and went back to his food, a sulky look about his face. 

Bruce's mood persisted through History of Magic and even as they made their way outside for Care of Magical Creatures. Beth and Melissa were content to let him brood. They agreed (out of his earshot) that the fresh air was likely to pick up his spirits enough to make conversation possible by dinner. 

As they reached the paddock, however, they were met with Professor Grubbly-Plank ordering them back. 

"Inside, all," she called, ushering people back towards the castle. They turned back, confused but dutiful, some complaining about having to walk all the way out and back again, others grateful to be coming in from the cold. 

There was a designated Care of Magical Creatures classroom, although Hagrid never used it; Professor Kettleburn had put it to good use back in the day. (He had also, Beth recalled, used it to store the smuggled beasts and items that he moved through Hogsmeade village.) Now its walls were nearly barren, save a smattering of large skeletons that apparently hadn't been worth the trouble to remove. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank shooed them all inside and they migrated instinctively to their usual spaces: the ones they had taken back when all of them were in Potions together, with Gryffindors on the right, Slytherins on the left. All this was done without a conscious thought. The self-segregation had become more than routine, more than habit - what was once intentional had become undisputed method. There were no hard feelings. It was just the way it was. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank went to the front of the room and stood there, hands behind her back. 

"Bit of a riddle for you," she said. "Two months ago a Muggle farmer calls in to the Yard saying somebody's trampled his crops in a perfect circle. Last month a pasture in Wales gets pockmarked with whacking big indentations. Yesterday, then, there's a fuss out in the Forbidden Forest and four dozen wild owls come in to perch in our Owlery. What's going on? Anyone?" 

Nobody spoke. Even Lee Jordan, who generally had a handle on Care of Magical Creatures, was silent. 

"Mooncalves," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 

"Gesundheit," said one of the Weasleys. 

"Weasley, you're a laugh riot," said Grubbly-Plank briskly, then moved on without a pause. "Herd of Mooncalves is moving through the area. When we saw the owls come in, I grabbed Filch for a hunt. They've left their tracks all over the forest, and they've burrowed themselves in for the night. They'll be out again tonight, and I've got permission from Dumbledore to take you out and see 'em." 

The students exchanged glances. Dumbledore had also approved two terms' worth of Blast-End Skrewts. "What are they like?" asked Alicia Spinnet cautiously. 

"Bashful," said Grubbly-Plank, and there was a palpable relief across the classroom. "Gentle. Rather lovely, really. Not in the conventional sense, of course-" She paused to bray out her donkeys' laughter. "Anybody got your textbook? Right, somebody check the index. Mooncalves, spelled like it sounds." 

They spent the class reviewing procedure for that night's excursion, and reading about Mooncalves' behavior - although, as Professor Grubbly-Plank pointed out, with luck they'd get to see it firsthand. Beth found herself getting excited at the prospect. The fuzzy night photos and sketches-from-memory in the textbook gave only a tantalizing glimpse of the strange creature. 

"Don't forget a scroll and quill," Professor Grubbly-Plank called after them, as the bell rang and the class filed out. "And anyone who forgets to bring their gloves will be sorry!" 

"Another night class," Bruce groaned on the way out. "I don't want to stay up till three in the morning. That's why I dropped Astronomy." 

Despite his words, he sounded happier; Beth could tell that the class had piqued his interest. 

"Oh, stop whining," Melissa told him, smiling. "We'll all be there. It'll be fun. Right?" 

Mervin snickered. "Maybe we'd better wait and see what these Mooncalves are like before we decide." 

Beth knew that Mervin was naturally skeptical of everything; but she thought that, the way things had been going this year, a little caution would be a good idea. 

-'-'-

The full moon lingered on the edge of a cloudy sky. 

The twisted trees and dense growth of the Forbidden Forest cast strange shadows under such a brilliant sky. Beth lay on her stomach near her classmates, a knapsack of supplies at her side. Melissa, to her left, had brought her Omnioculars. On the other side, Mervin - as always, prepared for the worst - clutched his wand. 

The entire seventh-year class lay scattered around the forest floor, eyes fixed on the Mooncalf burrows that Grubbly-Plank had pointed out earlier that evening. The air was thick with anticipation; even the Weasley twins, who had been separated as a precaution, lay utterly still. 

"You know," Melissa murmured, barely issuing a breath, "Professor Lupin's out tonight." 

Beth barely nodded in reply. She wanted to comment that she hoped he was at least out of the area, but she didn't want to risk breaking the silence - indeed, the wild white noise of the forest, the rustle of leaves and the calling of strange birds, was too exhilarating to disturb with the vulgar presence of man. 

Something rustled in the clearing. 

Beth's eyes flickered from Melissa to the Mooncalf burrows. Was there something wiggling, ever so slightly, near that tree? Was the moonlight reflecting strangely from that patch of shrub? Could she be seeing the first glimpse of? 

Like a mermaid breaking the crest of the sea, the very first Mooncalf slid from its burrow and stood under the brilliant moon. 

Its smooth body shone like brushed steel. Professor Grubbly-Plank had described them as "pale gray"; in life they were luminous, silver. Four slender legs tapered to large, flat feet. Beth expected it to move with the laborious motion of a man on snowshoes, but the Mooncalf, after it had gazed round with those huge spherical eyes atop its head, glided forward on them like an ice skater. It paused again, alert as a deer. Then it arched its neck and crooned a long, low note. 

The forest floor began to twitch. 

From the burrows arose the bulging eyes of its fellows; then the clearing was full of them, sliding toward their leader, effortlessly skating amid one another. Beth thought there must have been at least two dozen: a strange and ghostly herd. There came another droning call, sending chills up Beth's spine, which was joined by all until a strangely harmonic lowing shook the trees and sent the night birds fluttering above the canopy. 

The herd began to dance. 

Like bees in their hive ... like a flock of migrating birds ... like a minuet. There were no words to describe the smooth interweaving and obeisance that the Mooncalves made between the trees. It was elegant and natural, wild but not unstructured, more graceful than any human ballet. For at its root was sincerity; the Mooncalves danced because that was what they were meant to do, and so they did, and it was beautiful. 

Beth wasn't sure how long she lay there, entranced by the glowing motion of the slender creatures. Slowly she realized that the herd was thinning; one by one they slipped into the trees, moving deeper into the Forbidden Forest, still engaged in their winding, swaying dance. Soon only a pair of Mooncalves remained, circling each other with breathtaking ease, until finally they too followed their herd beneath the dark boughs and into the cool, silent depths of the woods. 

A final glimmer of light struck a Mooncalf's skin; then it skipped away, and the night fell still. 

For long moments no one moved. The sight of the dancing Mooncalves filled Beth's mind, like a vivid dream. She didn't want to move, she didn't want to speak - though she knew the moment would have to end, she wanted to hold it forever. 

It was Professor Grubbly-Plank who finally stood. "Well, I expect they're well shy of us now," she said, her sharp voice cutting through the night. "Up you get, that's it, be sure no one's left behind. That'll be eighteen inches of report due in one week. Hold it right there, Weasley," she barked, as the Weasley twins (reunited and whispering in awe to one another) began to head back to the castle. "Madam Sprout's requested a favor." 

She gestured to the forest floor - the dance floor, Beth thought absurdly. "This dung needs to be collected before morning. Does wonders for magical herbs. Come now, shan't take long with the lot of you all working." 

She produced a pile of shovels and some burlap sacks. 

It became obvious why they needed the gloves. Groaning, they broke into groups and picked up their shovels. 

"This is the second year in a row we've been sent out to collect dung," Mervin muttered, scooping up the silvery substance. "Is someone trying to tell us something?" 

"Hush," muttered Beth, smiling nonetheless. 

"All that time they could've saved on career advice," Mervin went on, "instead of those one-on-one chats, they could've just said, 'Go on, shovel some muck. Try it on for size. Do you good-" 

A bloodcurdling scream cut across the night. 

Beth stood bolt-upright, staring around. 

"'- if you're excellent at it we'll move you on to stable work and sewer-dredging, good solid job-" Mervin prattled on. 

"Shut up!" Beth hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "Don't you hear?" 

She broke off in horror. Mervin's face was his answer. 

"Oh, no." 

The breath caught in Beth's throat; she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She dropped her shovel and turned slowly to stare into the forest, paralyzed. There it was - the flickering white hair, tattered gown, huge mournful eyes, flitting among the trees, half-hidden, transparent in the moonlight- 

"_No_." 

Melissa turned back and saw Beth standing stock-still in the cold grass. "Beth, what are you?" 

Beth threw her shovel to the ground and charged into the forest. 

The banshee waited amid the trees, skeletal arms outstretched in maternal invitation, keening for a death that was unfulfilled yet inevitable. Beth dodged the thick trees, panting, keeping the luminous edges of the dress in sight- 

She was three feet away when the banshee vanished. 

The night dropped again into stark silence. Beth skidded to a halt, heart thumping madly. "_Who?_" she shouted into the empty forest. "_Who will it be?_" The forest did not reply. 

Strong hands came around her shoulders from behind and Beth nearly leapt a yard in the air. She whirled around. Professor Grubbly-Plank, flanked by most of the class, was staring at her with uncharacteristic concern - and more than a little fear. 

Beth felt suddenly helpless. "I ... saw..." She gestured ineffectively into the forest, not wanting to tell about the banshee, not wanting to pretend that there was nothing. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank's eyes were wide. "Was it?" she said, beneath her breath. The name of the Dark Lord hung unspoken between them. 

Beth shook her head. 

Instantly, Professor Grubbly-Plank snapped back into her old efficiency. "Nothing to see here, then," she barked at the class, who jumped a little at the noise. "Moonlight'll do strange things some days. Off to the infirmary with you, missy-" She grabbed Beth by the shoulders and began to steer her inside, calling over her shoulder, "-and the rest of you, just nip up those shovels and sacks and be off to bed immediately, do you understand? And no skimping on those reports, I know eighteen inches when I see it." 

Beth let Professor Grubbly-Plank drag her inside and upstairs to the infirmary. Her mind was churning. Who would it be? What if it was her father this time? Why _this,_ why now, why _her?_

Before she knew it, Professor Grubbly-Plank was shoving her onto a hospital cot and whistling between her teeth for Madam Pomfrey, who appeared a few minutes later in a dressing robe and looking highly alarmed. She relaxed at the sight of Beth. 

"I knew it wouldn't be long. What've you done to your arm _this_ year?" 

Beth grabbed reflexively at her forearm. "Nothing," she said automatically. 

"Girl's seeing things," Professor Grubbly-Plank said loudly. "Out near the forest. Shadows, you know ... went a bit barmy..." 

Madam Pomfrey fixed her with a disapproving look. "And you're not hurt?" she said to Beth. 

"No." _Not yet._

Madam Pomfrey sighed and nodded. "Right then, wait here just a moment..." She bustled off and began to dig through one of her broad wooden cabinets. 

As soon as Madam Pomfrey had turned, Professor Grubbly-Plank bent close. 

"You're sure it wasn't him?" 

Her wrinkled face was fearful. Just the thought of him, Beth thought, just the _possibility_ of him... 

"I'm sure," she said quietly. "Just moonlight." 

"Well." Professor Grubbly-Plank straightened back up. Her hands worked nervously. "So long as it was only that." She took a pipe from her pocket, lit it, and took a few bracing puffs. "You had me worried, Parson..." She brayed out a laugh. 

Madam Pomfrey turned back around and nearly leapt out of her white lace-up shoes. "Smoking in the hospital wing!" she practically screeched, advancing on Professor Grubbly-Plank fiercely. "I ask you! Take that thing away from here, this is a place of _healing!_" 

"As you say, Poppy," said Grubbly-Plank, who looked thoroughly taken aback. "I was leaving." She raised a hand to Beth and hurried out. 

"And you!" Madam Pomfrey whirled on Beth, but her look softened a bit. "Drink this, it's a bit of a calming potion with a draught for a dreamless sleep. Moonlight does strange things, to be sure." 

Beth drained the glass. All at once, a great weariness settled around her. She reached out to put aside the empty glass, searching for the bedside stand, but Madam Pomfrey reached out and took the goblet. It was a good thing that she did. Beth sank back onto the pillow, all thoughts of the banshee bleeding from her mind, and fell into a warm and welcoming darkness. 

-'-'-

_Beth stood barefoot in the graveyard with the ring of Death Eaters on all sides. Surrounded, she turned around and around seeking an exit, but at every turn her way was blocked - Riggs, Evan, Nott - her lost family stood together, beaming at her, and beside her the banshee rose from the ground ... they began to dance amid the circle, a crazy waltz, and the Death Eaters reached out their hands as Beth and the banshee, entwined, whirled around and around-_

"Good morning, Miss Parson, rise and shine!" 

Beth lurched out of sleep, gasping for breath. She opened her eyes to find herself in the infirmary, now sunny as early-morning rays shone through the high windows. Madam Pomfrey was regarding her with a smile. "Slept well, did you? No dreams?" 

"I - no," said Beth, momentarily confused. There had been an image in her head, she was sure of it, but it slid away so fast that it might as well never have been. "I ... don't think so." 

"Well, isn't that just what we all need sometimes," said Madam Pomfrey. "You'd best be getting back to your dormitories - you'll have time before breakfast, if you don't tarry." 

"All right." Beth rubbed her face blearily and swung out of bed. She was surprised to find herself fully clothed - she'd never had a chance to change from the previous night. She pulled on her sneakers, bid a "Thank you" to Madam Pomfrey (interrupted partway with a yawn) and staggered out into the hallway. 

It was only when she stood outside the Slytherin dormitories that she remembered. 

Beth swore aloud, and a portrait on the wall opposite tittered. The banshee...! She kicked the wall, jumped around on one foot grimacing, and finally spat out the password so that she could limp into the common room. She made her way straight to the shower. As if there wasn't enough to worry about this year... 

She didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone, so after showering she tied her wet hair into a ponytail and went straight upstairs to breakfast. Madam Pomfrey had woken her up far earlier than she would've gotten up on her own; she was one of the first ones there, apart from a handful of Hufflepuffs who were studying and a pair of Gryffindors who were not. 

The breakfast table, however, is not a good place to hide from anybody. It wasn't long before the student body started filtering in; halfway through her second cup of tea Melissa came in, spotted her, and hurried over. 

"Are you all right?" she whispered, sliding in beside her. "What happened last night? What did you see?" 

"Moonlight," said Beth blandly. 

"It wasn't _just_ moonlight, was it?" Melissa pressed. 

"Of course not," Beth sighed. It never was. "The banshee's back." 

Melissa's face flickered relief and then instantly started to fall into concern again. "Oh..." she said worriedly, pouring herself a cup of tea. She took a few minutes to doctor it up with sugar and cream before speaking again. "Are you sure it was her?" 

"I think I can recognize my own banshee," said Beth crossly. 

"It might've been a boggart," Melissa argued. "And - mightn't you have imagined it? I know she's real," she added hastily, because Beth's look was darkening dangerously, "but are you certain it was _really_ her?" 

The owls came in just then, swooping around to drop their newspapers, letters, and parcels. The Daily Prophet landed on Beth's silverware but she ignored that; sure enough, a plain envelope soon floated to her plate with _William Parson_ on the return address. She picked it up and displayed it sardonically to Melissa. 

"It was really her." 

Knowing what the letter would contain, she slit the envelope and read the short message that was enclosed. 

_Bethy-   
Are you all right?   
I sent the owl to Azkaban officials last night. Your mother and   
brothers are alive. I have not heard from the rest of my family.   
Be very careful.   
-Dad_

Beth suddenly felt very tired. "'Be very careful'," she muttered to herself, stuffing the letter into her pocket. "As if that will help." 

"Say something, Beth?" said Aaron Pucey innocuously, reaching across her for the plate of toast. 

"Not to you," said Beth blandly. "Pass me the sausage." 

Aaron handed her the platter. She forked two sausages and passed them on to Melissa, who was now looking more worried than ever. Melissa took a sausage and passed them on to the fourth-year beside her. 

For a few minutes they ate in silence. Finally Aaron - apparently unable to contain himself any longer - burst out, "So what was the problem last night?" 

Melissa started to make an angry reply, but Beth averted any further rows between them by interrupting. 

"Dizzy spell," said Beth deftly, not turning her attention away from her breakfast. "Did any of you work on that Mooncalf report after you went inside? I swear, I dreamed about it all night..." 

"'Course not, one in the morning?" Aaron rejoined. "Even if it is eighteen inches. She's mad." 

"They all are." 

The bell soon rang for class, to Beth's enormous relief, and they headed off to Herbology - Beth resolutely silent, Melissa still looking worried. The class was characteristically humbling, but Beth welcomed it; it was wonderful to be able to channel her thoughts and energy into pruning her _Mariphasa lupina lumina_, instead of the banshee. 

By the time they swept aside the cuttings of the moon-blooming flower, the sharp edge of her fear had dulled into a constant but familiar dread. She could think rationally about the situation. There were many Parsimmers whom she had never met. Statistically, it was unlikely to be one of her close family. Anyway, it had taken months for her prophecy to come true previously. Who knew how long it might be now? It was a weak rationalization, but it helped her keep herself in check. She joined her classmates on their way back into the castle, brushing dirt from their robes and picking green from beneath their fingernails. 

No sooner had they turned down the Defense corridor than they met up with a clutch of fifth-year Gryffindors. Aaron's eyes lit up. He positioned himself directly in the path of the youngest Weasley boy and, just before the collision, called out: 

"Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" 

The redhead turned a pale green and hurried away, awkwardly bumping into the students on either side of him. 

Bruce let out his breath. "Hey Aaron," he said, looking at his books, "do you think you could not do that?" 

Aaron looked astonished. "But Montague's saying it'll distract him even before the match starts-" 

Bruce interrupted him, shaking his head. "I know what Montague says. But why don't we lay off, just once, and try to win with our skills?" 

Aaron eyed him skeptically. "You're losing it, Bletchley," he said, and turned into the D.A.D.A classroom. 

Bruce sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I'm losing it," he said to himself, before following Aaron inside. 

It had been clear from the beginning that, apart from homework purposes, there was no point in reading the Slinkhard text. D.A.D.A. (which was now understood to stand for Defense Against Doing Anything) was not covering anything that would appear on the N.E.W.T.s - and since there was no final exam in the class, there was simply no point to it. The seventh-year Slytherins considered it a study hall. They only kept showing up to stay in Umbridge's good favor. 

Today was no exception; despite her distracted thoughts, Beth got halfway through a practice test for History of Magic before the bell rang to usher them all to lunch. 

They watched the bratty second-years get into a shouting match with the Gryffindors, which was hilarious in more than one way; they spent a little time bad-mouthing Professor Umbridge, always a pleasure; a few of them put their heads on the table to make up for sleep missed the previous night thanks to those dratted Mooncalves (they were pretty enough at night, but - as is often the case with nocturnal pleasures - the seventh-years felt less friendly towards them the morning after). Between it all Beth was able to enjoy a brainless hour or so among her friends, swatting down the banshee whenever she came to mind. 

Double Potions was everything that had come to be expected in the week before the Gryffindor/Slytherin game. A remarkable number of house points were given and taken; whispered insults flew in nearly the same volume; brews were vandalized and ingredients overturned. Everybody got a "T" for the day. 

The seventh-years had Divination afterwards; Beth, Mervin and Bruce, who had all dropped the class, headed off to the library. It had become a habit throughout the year; right before dinner, the place was usually only partially full, and it kept up the momentum of studying through the day. (Besides, they were likely to get yelled at for loitering in the hallways.) It was something of a relief for Beth to be parted from Melissa for a while. The looks of concern and pity she had been shooting Beth all morning were really more unsettling than helpful. 

They took up their usual table and got to work: Beth and Mervin on a troublesome system of equations for Vector, Bruce on his fungus project for Sprout. Left alone with her thoughts again, it took a long time for Beth to get anything done. Memories of the banshee kept flickering through her head, interspersed with thoughts of her family: weary-eyed Luke, insensible Chris, their mother irreversibly mad. She had only just begun to focus on her work when her concentration was shattered by a voice from nearby. 

"Bletchley!" 

Bruce twisted around in his seat. Montague leered back at him from the next table. 

"Heard you were talking bad about my pre-game tactics," said Montague, grinning unpleasantly. "Don't you know half the game is all up here?" He tapped on Bruce's forehead a few times, hard. 

"_On the field,_" said Bruce tightly. "We don't have to make the kid miserable two weeks in advance." 

Montague pulled a mock frown. "Well. Aren't we the moralist." He snorted. "When the change of heart? You were the one who kept tossing off things for McGonagall to test when she was holding Potter's Firebolt two years ago." 

Bruce was silent. Beth thought that Montague had a point. 

"Listen, Bletchley," said Montague, and the grin was gone from his face. "I'm the captain. I call the shots. And I say I want the Gryffindors so distracted that by the time they get on the pitch Saturday, they won't remember which goals are theirs. Got it?" 

Bruce held his tongue. 

"_Got it?_" 

"I heard you," said Bruce shortly. "Get back to your books before you get expelled for stupidity. Again." 

He turned his back on his captain, pulled out a toadstool and got to work on his Herbology. 

Montague's careless leer faded into something more dangerous; then he, too, turned back to his books. 

Beth and Mervin glanced at each other and then, in the interest of peace, went on studying. Bruce bent over his toadstool, prodding it with his wand and trying hard to make it send out shoots. 

Three tables away, Alicia Spinnet let out a shriek. 

Everyone in the library revolved toward her like flowers toward the sun. She was holding her hands over her eyes to keep out the hair - not hair from her head, Beth realized, but from eyebrows that were getting shaggier by the second. She could have plaited them into a false beard. It was mere moments before the astonishment on her face evolved into sheer anger. She turned full-face toward the Slytherins. 

"_Bletchley!_" 

Her shriek echoed around the library. 

Bruce, with his wand poised over his toadstool - and pointed straight at her - stared dumbly at her blossoming eyebrows. 

"_What is this?_" 

Madam Pince stormed over to them, her face livid. 

"Disruptions in the library! There are students here attempting to study!" She jabbed a clawlike finger towards the shelves. "Some of these books are very sensitive!" 

"Madam Pince," said Spinnet, her voice shaking with tightly controlled fury, "Miles Bletchley hexed me." She pointed unnecessarily at the eyebrows that now almost obscured her face. 

Madam Pince looked from her to Bruce and back again, hands on her skinny hips. "It's perfectly clear that you've been hexed," she said scathingly. "You're certain Mr. Bletchley did the deed?" 

A clamor of voices rose up in the area. 

"Right, I saw it!" 

"It was him!" 

"Look, he's still got his wand out!" 

Bruce looked down at his wand. He rotated in his seat to see Montague leering back at him. 

"No hex of any kind is any excuse to disrupt the library," said Madam Pince tightly, to Alicia. "All of you - to Professor Snape's office. Immediately." 

At least a dozen witnesses scrambled to their feet and collected around Spinnet, who probably looked victorious behind her curtain of eyebrow hair. With a furious look at Montague, Bruce shoved back his seat and stood up. 

"Off you get," said Madam Pince, pointing toward the doorway in case they had all forgotten where it was. 

The mob hurried toward the doorway, Bruce following. Just before he was through the door, Bruce turned back, glaring at Montague, and very clearly mouthed, _I will kill you._

Montague gave him a cheerful finger-wave and turned back to his books. 

Face set, Bruce followed his accusers to Professor Snape's office. 

-'-'-

Bruce showed up again at dinner. 

He dropped down between Beth and Melissa (who by then had heard the story from many different sources, and claimed that Professor Trelawney had seen something very similar in her teacup that very day). Dumping his books on the table, he spoke before either of them could ask the question. 

"He let me off," said Bruce. He did not sound especially delighted by the fact. "I wanted him to do Priori Incantato to prove it but he thought my word was enough - so of course, everyone thinks it's just another case of Snape favoring his house. Which it is, except I'm actually innocent." 

"Hush," said Melissa consolingly. "The important part is that you got out of it." 

Bruce shook his head, looking down at his plate. "I'm not sure it is." 

"You could have told them who really did it," said Beth. 

"What's the point?" said Bruce. "Snape would've let _him_ off too." He reached across the table and started doling food onto his plate. 

"Bruce!" came a young girl's voice. 

Sally Bletchley came hurrying up to the Slytherin table. She stopped beside Bruce's seat and put her hands on her hips. "I heard you hexed somebody in the library today." 

"You should know better than to listen to rumors," said Bruce. 

"Alicia Spinnet told me, she's the one you did it to!" 

"Keep your voice down," said Bruce. "It wasn't me. I was framed." 

Sally narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him carefully. Finally she nodded. "Okay. I believe you." 

"Well thank goodness," said Bruce sarcastically. 

Sally gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh Bruce, when _will_ you learn to be friendlier? It's no wonder they put you in Slytherin." 

Bruce stopped with his food halfway to his mouth. He stared at his sister in hurt amazement. "What do you mean by that?" he finally said. 

"Er-" Sally hesitated. 

"You just mean that Slytherin is obviously where all the rotten people go, that's all," said Bruce, anger rising in his tone. 

"Well - I didn't-" Beth had never seen the little girl so flustered. "Bruce, I mean-" 

"No, you know what?" Bruce had put down all his silverware. "It's okay. I know. You think what everybody else thinks. And that's okay. Because, hey - it's probably right, isn't it? So why don't you just go back to the nice peoples' side of the room, and _sit with your own perfect house._" He was out of his seat, pointing fiercely across the Great Hall. 

Sally's lower lip trembled. "Bruce..." She stared into his face for a moment; when it didn't change, she turned and fled back to the Gryffindor table. 

Bruce watched her go, his face set. Then he slammed a fist down on the table. "_Twit,_" he said ferociously, and stormed out of the Great Hall. 

-'-'-

Bruce didn't turn up in the common room until curfew. By his red cheeks and chapped hands, Beth guessed that he had been out flying, and almost certainly by himself: the Gryffindors had won the practice-field lottery that night. To Beth's surprise, he hung up his cloak and plunked down beside her on the sofa, where she was enmeshed in Herbology. 

Beth let several minutes go by before she put down her book. "Kind of a bad day, huh?" 

"Yeah," said Bruce. He watched the fire slowly consume its fuel. 

After a long time, Beth said, "I don't think Sally meant that the way it sounded." 

Beth held her breath, expecting a harsh response, but Bruce shrugged halfheartedly. "Little brat. Can't blame her for not knowing any better." 

"I guess you never told her about the way they treat us," said Beth, again feeling like she was treading in a dangerous place. 

"Nah. I don't talk bad about Gryffindor at home." 

He got up with a sigh and headed back to the boys' dorms. 

Beth sat watching the fireplace for a long time after he had gone. Given all she had heard him say about the Gryffindors, McGonagall, and the Weasley twins over the past seven years, she found his statement very surprising. 


	17. Of Quidditch Games and Kings

**Chapter Seventeen: Of Quidditch Games and Kings**

Beth awoke on the day before the Slytherin/Gryffindor game, from a dream in which she was back at Richard's funeral, watching her mother lie down in the empty coffin while the banshee gave a wordless eulogy. She lay in bed for many moments afterward, reminding herself that it was only a dream _(so far)_ and then got ready for school without speaking to anyone.

Blaise glanced up at her as she passed by the breakfast table. "Hey Beth - what rhymes with 'king'?"

"Thing," said Beth dully. She was not in the mood for poetry.

Blaise and Draco glanced at each other. "We can use that, actually," said Draco thoughtfully, and the two of them bent over the parchment again, quills scrabbling for space.

Beth dared not ask what they were up to. She ate breakfast with a faint hope that, unlike the last time the fifth-years had gotten it into their heads to be clever, it wasn't illegal.

Whatever it was, it didn't blow up the school that morning, and Beth passed an excellent Charms class tackling an immensely difficult Room-Sealing Charm. The work and distraction again soothed her thoughts of the banshee. Afterward, feeling tired but much better, Beth joined Mervin on the way to Arithmancy.

"I've figured it out," Mervin said, as they strolled down the hall.

"Question thirteen?" said Beth. "I spent half of yesterday on that one, care to clue me in?"

"Oh, not that," Mervin scoffed. "The Quidditch season. I've figured out why they always make the Gryffindors the first team we play."

For her part, Beth would have rather heard the solution to question thirteen, but she humored him. "Why's that?"

They sat down together at the far side of the room.

Almost at once the whispers and not-so-well-concealed mutters filtered to their ears.

"I really hope the Gryffindors stomp them. I really want to see them go down again."

"Fancy a flutter?"

"I heard Weasley's sworn to knock Draco off his broom."

"Which one, then?"

"Who cares? Can you imagine the little wart hitting the ground from five hundred feet?"

Beth glanced over at Mervin. They had heard it all before. Sagely, nodding like a tired prognosticator, Mervin gave her a long-suffering smile.

"To get it over with quick."

-'-'-

Beth spent the afternoon on Potions and the evening on Arithmancy, which chased off thoughts of the banshee; but when her work was put away, the tattered white spirit returned to flirt with Beth's mind. She sat before the fireplace, warding off the first hints of winter chill, with Melissa beside her reading a book.

"Unbelievable," said Beth to herself.

Melissa glanced up. "Pardon?"

"I can't believe she's back," said Beth numbly, looking at her hands instead of the roaring fire. "I should have thought - it just seemed like, last time, it was over. I should have known it would never be over for good."

Melissa sighed and put down her book. She handed Beth a cup of tea. "I don't want to frighten you," she said carefully. "I know you can't guess who she's crying for. But Beth - as far as we know, the member of your family who's most in danger is _you._"

"Well _now_ I'm not frightened," Beth said irritably. "Thanks Mel, big help..." She put the tea on a side table, untouched, and raised her hands to her face. "Ugh! I hate her, I hate all this - knowing but not really knowing-"

"I wish we could do something," Melissa said. She pulled a thread from her sweater and tossed it into the fire.

"We?" said Beth.

"Well, me. And all of us. The Society. The Guild."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Part of her wanted badly to tell Richard that she'd seen the banshee, but the rest of her quashed that urge quickly. The last time she'd had a family problem, he'd flown out to Azkaban to help her out of it; she didn't want him to do anything brash, and there was no need for him to worry about a dreadful but very vague future event. He had quite enough to worry about as it was. "I'm almost afraid of what they would try to do."

"Well." Melissa tugged at her sleeve restlessly. "If you ever do want ... I don't know, anything ... you know I'll do whatever I can."

Beth looked over at her best friend, whose brow, furrowed in worry, reflected the yellow flicker of the fire. Melissa had many faults, but she had stood by Beth through all the trials and revelations of her family ... she had always supported her against the Weasley twins ... she had joined Beth in the Forbidden Forest, on the Durmstrang campus, and had even gone to Azkaban to help her.

"I know you will."

And she really did.

-'-'-

Beth slept late that Saturday; the air was so crisp in the dungeons that she couldn't resist rolling over for another cozy twenty minutes. When at last she forced herself upright, it was to a near-empty dormitory.

_Of course,_ she realized, halfway through washing her hair. _The game._

The Great Hall was crowded, buzzing with excitement, flowering with predictions of individual performances, best wishes to the players, and last-minute wagers. Before Beth could take a seat with her classmates, Blaise Zabini shanghaied her and shoved something into her hands.

"You're late. Take this."

"What is it?"

Beth uncurled her fingers to find a piece of paper and a small, silver trinket.

"Ammunition," said Blaise, with a wink.

It never bode well when the fifth-years were looking pleased with themselves. Beth examined the objects on her way to her seat. The silver thing was actually a small pin, shaped like a crown and bearing the unusual phrase WEASLEY IS OUR KING. "Not my king," muttered Beth, unfolding the paper. Nose in the page, she sat down beside Melissa, across from where Bruce was making the most of his appetite.

"Aha," she said aloud.

The paper contained a single line of melody and three stanzas of a song that matched the badges: Weasley cannot save a thing/He cannot block a single ring/That's why Slytherins all sing/Weasley is our King. The "born in a bin" line was an unmistakable hallmark of Draco's authorship. She snickered when she got to the line reading, "Weasley will make sure we win." Apparently the fifth-years had decided not to rely on Weasley's lack of talent to lose the game; they were being a proactive audience.

"Not subtle," she commented to Melissa, pinning on the badge, "but not bad."

"Not bad at all." Melissa was already halfway through a bowl of oatmeal and had her own badge firmly in place. "If the Gryffindors knew how to exploit _our_ weaknesses like that, we'd never win a game."

Beth got herself a waffle. "This would never work on Potter."

"Sad but true," Melissa agreed. "That boy's getting a mouth on him. Did you hear what he said about Warrington?"

"Bruce?"

All three of them looked up to see Sally Bletchley standing near the table, twisting her hands together nervously. She had two rosettes pinned to her cloak: one in Gryffindor scarlet, and the other in Slytherin green.

"Hi, Bruce," she said bashfully.

Bruce pushed back his chair and looked over at her. With him seated and her standing, their eyes were nearly on level. It struck Beth suddenly how strong their family resemblance was.

"Hi."

Sally indicated the green rosette. "I did it myself," she said, twisting her foot shyly. "I got one of the prefects to show me a charm to turn it green."

"It looks like you did a really good job," said Bruce.

They looked at each other quietly for a minute.

"Are you still mad at me?" said Sally.

"No. Do you still think I'm unfriendly?" said Bruce.

"Yes, sometimes," said Sally. "Only - I expect Gryffindors can be unfriendly too, can't they?"

"They very often are," said Bruce. "Particularly to me."

Watching them, Beth was struck with envy so strong and so painful that it frightened her. She had not spoken to her own brother since that first call of the Dark Lord; now, with the cruel threat of the banshee taunting her again, she might never have the chance.

Melissa was watching the Bletchleys with a sort of wistful look. Suddenly she pushed back her chair and stood up.

"Where are you going?" said Beth, peering up at her.

"I think I ought to make up with Aaron," said Melissa firmly.

"About time," said Beth, but by then Melissa was already halfway down the table. Aaron turned away at the sight of her but she reached out to grab him before he could get away.

"Aaron-"

She caught him by the sleeve of his T-shirt.

Aaron turned reluctantly back around, his expression tight. "What?" he said shortly.

"Good luck," said Melissa. She took a deep breath. "Really, I mean it. Good luck. I'm glad you got on the team."

Aaron eyed her, uncertainly.

She cuffed him on the shoulder. "Go kick some Gryffindor."

Aaron's face creased into a grin. "Yeah, all right." He punched her back, and Melissa staggered a little. "Thanks."

Montague's voice boomed over the chatter at the Slytherin table, and all eyes turned toward his impressive presence. "Locker room! Move it, you lot."

Aaron waved and hurried to join his captain; Bruce received a kiss on the cheek from Sally while Warrington got a much more vigorous one from Antigone. The team left amid cheers from their classmates, while Montague's voice roared over the hubbub: "Hustle, lads, let's save the shagging for after the victory."

Not long afterwards, the student body followed their teams to the Quidditch pitch, gleefully partisan of companions and clothing. The other houses had begun to notice the Weasley is Our King badges; there was pointing and whispering, and even the occasional snicker. Beth crowded into the stands with Melissa and Mervin, as usual, clutching her song sheet and grateful for something to take her mind off of the banshee.

"We haven't beaten Gryffindor since second year," Melissa sighed, her voice almost frustrated. "I just want to see it once more before we leave."

"I want to see Potter fall off his broom again," said Mervin wistfully.

Far below them, the teams took the field: they were enemy armies presenting arms, packs of wild animals circling warily.

"Captains, shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch. Predictably, Montague put his whole weight into his grip, but Johnson did an admirable job of squeezing back. "Mount your brooms."

The fourteen players hunkered down, readied for a fast start.

The sound of the whistle cut through the November air. Four balls zoomed into play, the Golden Snitch instantly lost among the flurry; scarlet and green-cloaked figures launched upward, fanning out like fireworks. The momentary, breathtaking symmetry ended as the teams crashed together and the game began in earnest.

Lee Jordan, longtime king of the announcer's booth, was in fine form.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me-"

McGonagall delivered her usual frustrated warning.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest-"

Both Warrington and Montague missed catching her until Crabbe sent a Bludger her way; Montague picked up the Quaffle and shot down the field, only to take a Bludger in the middle of the forehead courtesy of one of the Weasley twins. He dropped the Quaffle, clutching his forehead with one hand and his broom with the other. A Gryffindor Chaser zoomed under him to retrieve the Quaffle, tossing it backwards to her teammate who took off with it, past the Slytherin Chasers and through the hailstorm of Bludgers that Crabbe and Goyle were now sending her way.

At the front of the stands Pansy Parkinson stood up and faced her housemates, waving one of the song sheets. "All right, now!" she cried. "Loud and clear!"

She pointed to Blaise Zabini, who raised a pitch pipe and blew a starting note. Like a bandleader, Pansy raised her hands and conducted the Slytherins in their first round of "Weasley is Our King."

The words of the song roared out over the cheers and shouts of the other three houses. Lee Jordan paused his commentary to listen, then took it up again with vigor as he realized that it would not be good for his favored team. His overloud commentary and the other three houses were not quite enough to drown out the unified front of Slytherins, all shouting in time:

_Weasley was born in a bin,  
He always lets the Quaffle in,  
Weasley will make sure we win,  
Weasley is our King!_

The Gryffindor Chaser passed off to a teammate, who advanced like lightning toward the unprotected left-hand goal. Beth and Melissa broke off singing to howl out encouragement to Bruce. At the last minute, Bruce swooped up from nowhere to block the shot.

"Way to go, Brucey!" Beth and Melissa shrieked, waving their arms in the air as the Slytherins roared. Bruce, by now well used to playing before an audience, passed the Quaffle to Warrington and settled back into a calm but alert figure-eight pattern before the goals. Warrington took off down the field, neatly avoiding the Gryffindor Chasers, and closed on their new Keeper like a train on a deer.

"EVERYBODY NOW!" cried Pansy.

The Slytherins bellowed out the chorus:

_Weasley is our King,  
Weasley is our King,  
He always lets the Quaffle in,  
Weasley is our King!_

It may have been a little cruel, but Beth had to admit that it was fun - and effective. The little Weasley dived, as if at random, and the Quaffle went straight between his hands and into the middle hoop.

"This kid's as good as Longbottom!" cried Melissa in delight, over the roaring cheers and ever-escalating song. "The Cup is in the bag!"

"Look at Potter!" Mervin shouted back.

By the looks of it, even Potter was dumbstruck at the sheer ineptitude of his best friend. He hovered near the middle of the field as if he had utterly forgotten that the game was going on. Only when his captain zoomed past did he drop into a dive and start circling the pitch again.

_"In the bag!"_ Melissa howled again, clenching him in an attack-hug (after which they both looked very surprised).

There followed twenty of the happiest minutes in Slytherin history.

Not only did the Chasers score three more times, but the Slytherin defensive side was at the top of its form. Bruce resisted several more attempts on his goals, including one very vindictive one from Alicia Spinnet who clearly still believed he had jinxed her eyebrows. Crabbe and Goyle, while not excellent flyers, shared an amazingly solid performance. Years of serving as Draco's lackeys had made them almost two halves of the same person. Their performance was as tight as the Weasley twins'. They tended to spend a little too much time protecting Draco instead of the rest of the team, but that was to be expected; besides, if the Seeker took a Bludger they might as well give up the game.

Finally the Gryffindor captain managed a goal; but that was so insignificant compared to their lead that Bruce blocked another two right after, without being shaken. He was likely to be pleased with the game, Beth thought. So far, Slytherin hadn't fouled once.

Suddenly, just as Aaron picked up a Quaffle thanks to Goyle's good aim with a Bludger, a red blur streaked from high above the right end of the field: Potter had seen the Snitch. Draco followed a moment later, but whether he was aiming for the Snitch or Potter's trajectory was uncertain: Beth could no more see the Snitch than she could touch it. Potter made a swift turn while Draco continued on - that was a good sign - the crowd was roaring now, "Weasley is Our King" was forgotten amid the thrill of the showdown - each Seeker had his arm outstretched, fingers straining for that last inch...

And Potter drew up his broom to a slow hover, a glint of gold in his fist.

The crowd saw it before Potter did. One minute the Gryffindor Seeker was floating upward, clenched fist raised; the next, he was tumbling forward onto the ground while a Bludger zoomed away merrily. Not too far away, Crabbe hovered with his Beater's bat still raised. He had done his job for the team; but he had done it five seconds too late.

The stands exploded, for various reasons, and Madam Hooch's whistle scored the air. Angelina Johnson landed, frantically, and helped her Seeker off the ground; Hooch rocketed toward Crabbe with her outstretched finger pointed judicially at his head. The rest of the players began to land. Beth saw Bruce drift down from the goalposts, shaking his head. Across the field, his counterpart did the same.

"At least Bruce did a good job," said Beth.

"He could have fallen from _further_ up," muttered Mervin, not hearing her, staring at Potter surrounded by his mates on the field.

"Hush," said Melissa. "Look at that."

The teams were still on the field, moving in packs toward one another, and it didn't look like they were going to shake hands.

Draco had taken it upon himself to approach the winners with good old Slytherin congratulations - and judging by the way the Weasley twins were being restrained by their classmates, it was having the desired effect. Madam Hooch, still bringing the full measure of her wrath onto Crabbe, didn't notice the hate crackling like electricity between the two factions. It arced without warning. Potter and one of the Weasley twins broke away and barreled toward Draco, fists cocked, and what happened next would not have looked out of place at a hockey game. The collision was phenomenal. The sudden bloom of scarlet blood was even better.

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

It was the first coherent word from the whole mess, and it echoed around the stands like only a coach's voice can do. The players flew apart: Draco landed flat on his back, clutching his nose, while Potter and one of the Weasley twins still fought the force that yanked them away from their punching bag. They stopped when Madam Hooch stormed up between them and in no uncertain terms pointed them toward the castle. Not looking at each other, Draco, or the crowds, the two Gryffindors strode from the field, to the hoots and whistles of the audience.

"Wow," said Beth, looking down at Draco sprawled on the field and the smear of blood on the grass, "he has had that coming for _so long_."

"Come on," said Melissa, "let's go in - maybe Bruce got a glimpse of what happened."

But Bruce had made himself scarce, along with the rest of the players. Despite the hours of speculation, no one could say for sure what _had_ happened until dinner that night, when the Quidditch team clustered together as if celebrating a victory and not a defeat. Montague's voice boomed around the four corners of the hall.

"Didn't you hear what happened?" Montague's face was sheer delight. "They've been booted. Umbridge kicked 'em off the team. Potter and both Beaters." He clapped Draco on the shoulder.

"What about Crabbe?" said Bruce, with a worried look at their own Beater.

"Lines!" Montague almost shouted. He let out a genuine, delighted laugh. "This beautiful bastard only got lines, and gets half the Gryffindors sacked." He ruffled Crabbe's prickly hair. "If you weren't so ugly I'd kiss you."

Crabbe, to his credit, looked repulsed.

"I wouldn't be so proud of that if I were you," said Bruce, still frowning heavily. "In the professional leagues, a stunt like that would get you sacked."

Montague turned to him slowly, leering like a barracuda. "It's a good thing this ain't the professional leagues, then."

"I don't want my future ruined by someone else's foul play." Bruce's voice was dangerously soft.

"I wouldn't overrate my own future if I were you," said Montague coldly. He poked a finger at Bruce's chest. "You let one in. Let's sharpen up next time, right?" Then, dismissively, he turned his back and strolled away.

Bruce stared, disbelievingly, at the swaggering retreat. He turned back toward the girls, still stunned.

"Bruce, don't listen to him," Melissa said, her voice low and quick with urgency.

"This year can't end soon enough," said Bruce darkly, his face twisting. He turned and left the Great Hall - ignoring a herald from his sister, the cry of his name from Kiesha, and the girls urging him to wait and eat something - so straight-backed and composed that Beth knew that the anger in him boiled hotter than ever.

They ate quickly and headed to the common room, hoping to head him off before he had the idea to lay a hex Montague's bed or something. To their surprise, they found him and Mervin working through the N.E.W.T.s primer at a corner table. The boys were quiet, and Bruce had his mouth set, but the silence was unstrained, and they approached without fear.

Beth spoke first. "You did a great job, Bruce. The Chasers were getting really frustrated there."

"One of my best games," Bruce agreed, without taking his eyes from his work.

"I thought Professor Umbridge looked quite impressed," Melissa added. "She does have a great deal of influence, you know. She may know someone who could get you a professional try-out."

"I think I'd like to do it without Umbridge's help, thanks," said Bruce, just as quietly as before.

"Well, I could use some help with that section of the N.E.W.T.s," Melissa said blithely, pulling out a chair. "Show me what you and Mervin have done."

She took a seat and leaned over his primer for a look; and while Bruce really had no choice but to show her their progress, Beth thought that by the way his face cleared, the interaction was a welcome one.

They worked for about an hour, going back and forth over whether or not it was worthwhile to learn this particular theory, interspersing idle chitchat as they did, admonishing each other to keep it down and then promptly turning hypocrite as an interesting comment sprang to mind. The room filled up as dinner let out. No one approached Bruce - probably because he looked so busy - for which Beth was grateful. Not too much later, they realized how little they had accomplished and packed up their books, resolving that their time would be better spent with Aaron, working for their N.E.W.T. in Gobstones.

Just as they were getting up from the table, Melissa paused, and a bemused look came on her face. "Did Montague say that Umbridge kicked them off the team?" she said, with a slow incredulity. "Umbridge doesn't have that kind of authority."

"Oh no," said Mervin gloomily, glancing up at them. He pointed toward the message board. "She does now."

The new notice read "Educational Decree Twenty-Five" and it essentially gave Umbridge authority over all punishments in the entire school.

"This is ridiculous," said Bruce flatly. "Since when has Fudge cared anything about who punishes us?"

"Oh, it's nothing to do with us," said Melissa, turning to him with her familiar knowledgeable air. "It's all about power. Increasing Umbridge's authority over student punishment is the same as increasing Fudge's authority over Dumbledore."

Beth didn't entirely understand the connection, but it did make sense, and Melissa was the most politically savvy of any of them.

"I suppose it's good for us, anyway," Melissa went on thoughtfully. "She _does_ favor the Slytherins, you know. She was very easy on Crabbe-"

"Too right," muttered Bruce.

"And I think it's safe to say she'd do the same for any of us. Now, I don't think we ought to take full advantage of this," she cautioned (Mervin looked disappointed), "but I think things may be easier for us. Umbridge is on our side."

She let out a sigh.

"We just have to make sure she stays there."

-'-'-

After all the excitement of that Saturday, the Slytherins spent Sunday sleeping in and reminiscing about the happier moments of the previous day's game. (No one mentioned that they had actually lost.) Beth and Melissa ate breakfast late, then decided to skive off N.E.W.T.s for the morning in favor of taking a walk around the snow-covered and thinly iced lake. (Beth considered this damage to Melissa's study habits a personal triumph.)

They dressed warmly and headed up through the Entrance Hall; however, halfway down the cold stone steps, Melissa drew up short.

"Professor!"

Professor Grubbly-Plank was making her way down the stairs, a worn leather suitcase in each hand. She was dressed in a traveling cloak and a big, floppy hat. She turned around, and dropped her bags when she saw who had hailed her.

"Well," she said, with a bark of a laugh, "looks like I'm out a job."

They stared at her. Melissa put her hands to her mouth. "Oh no, you're sacked? But I thought Umbridge liked the way you were doing things-"

"Sacked?" roared Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Me? Don't be daft, I'm the best thing to happen to creature studies at Hogwarts since Kettleburn got the axe. Hagrid's back."

"I was starting to wonder if he'd ever come back," said Beth. "Where's he been?"

"Don't know," said Grubbly-Plank darkly, "but it wasn't Majorca, I'll tell you that. Man's black and blue." She lowered her voice. "I reckon he went to America to try his luck as a professional wrestler."

Neither Beth nor Melissa managed a response.

"Very big into wrestling, those Yanks," Grubbly-Plank added.

They contemplated this.

"So ... where will you be going now?" Melissa said at last, presumably to avoid the thought of Hagrid in wrestling attire.

"Back to the old homestead," Professor Grubbly-Plank said expansively, fumbling around for her pipe and finally sticking it between her teeth. "Plank - me old husband, rest 'is soul - had a patch of land by the Thames. It's back to retirement for me. Assuming," she added, "old Tommie doesn't find something to keep me busy."

Beth remembered what Richard had told her, about the Society members being moved into position like chess pieces, and about the brief but terrifying string of kidnappings. "Watch out for him," she instructed. "And if he does anything, write and let us know."

Grubbly-Plank frowned. "Don't know as I'd risk putting it in a letter," she said carefully, "but I'll send word."

It was all they could ask for. They stood looking at each other for a moment; then brash, gray-haired Professor Grubbly-Plank swooped down and grabbed them both in a thoroughly unexpected hug.

"You girls be careful," she said fervently. "We're playing a very different game now. Tommie won't give it up easy. He was a caution when I knew him - and now, this thing he's turned into..." She pulled away, her face looking more worried and aged than Beth had ever seen.

"You girls be careful," she repeated.

Professor Grubbly-Plank, the oldest living member of the Society for Slytherin Advancement, turned and began the long walk to Hogsmeade, bags floating behind her.

That night, Beth plucked Mercator from the canopy of her bed and tied a note to his leg.

_Grubbs has left the school. I think she is on our side._

It wasn't a very well-coded letter, she knew, but the small brown bat had been going to and from Azkaban for years now without being caught. She figured he could make one more flight.

"Richard is down Knockturn Alley," she told the bat, carrying it in her fist to the common room door. "Be careful of owls."

She opened the door a crack and tossed him into the hallway. The little bat swooped away down the hall, clicking excitedly, and fell out of sight among the shadows.

Mercator reappeared three nights later, with a message Spellotaped to his leg:

_She is._

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
**(A/n:)** We interrupt this fanfic for a public service announcement.

If you've enjoyed the SSA books, it is largely due to the efforts of Giesbrecht, my beta-reader (ScionofGrace on Livejournal). She plucks out the worst bits of writing, tells me when my jokes are particularly unfunny, and completely fixed up the ending of "Dementors' Fortress". By my count she has beta-read something like 380,000 words for me, which is one and a half times the length of OotP. Clearly, the girl is dedicated.

Gies, a soprano, will be joining her touring choir on a trip through Germany and part of Austria later this year. I know this is an important trip to her; she loves to sing, and has a strong German heritage. However - unsurprisingly, for a school-going, student-teaching, job-holding girl - she really has to stretch to make payments for the trip. Since she's done so much for these books, and her own fics are so good (see Some Things Are Better Left Unknown), I thought we of the fandom could help her out.

If you have PayPal and a few bucks to spare, I ask you to help Gies get her Germany trip by making a PayPal donation to **dimond81** at **hotmail** dot **com**. Even a dollar or two would be appreciated. If you don't want to send money over the Internet, send me an email and we can work out an alternative. Everyone who donates will be sent a thank-you email, be mentioned in a thank-you note at the bottom of upcoming chapters, and be added to my "Favorite Authors" list, provided you leave me an email or review letting me know that you did.

Thanks for hearing me out. Gies doesn't know I'm doing this; I take full responsibility for the solicitation (and after all the times I've spammed you lot, you shouldn't be surprised). I deeply appreciate your readership, your time, and your consideration. Just think how nice it would be if somebody did this for you someday.


	18. The End of Term

**Chapter Eighteen: The End of Term**

As if the seasons were based around the Quidditch schedule, winter came in earnest after the Gryffindor match. That Monday morning found Hogwarts blanketed with snow, sorely tempting Beth to spend Charms staring out the window, and making the usual trek out to the paddock for Care of Magical Creatures a cold, wet, and unpleasant ordeal. 

Everybody by then knew Hagrid was back, but it was still a jolt to see him standing there, a shaggy black island in the sea of snow. His face and hands were covered with dreadful cuts and bruises, although his bandages looked fresh, and there was a large, suspiciously drippy bundle under one arm. 

The Weasley twins ran to meet him. "What've you got there, Hag" 

The one who had spoken broke off and reeled back a pace as Hagrid happily held up a dead goat. 

"Jus' a bit of teachin' materials," he said cheerily. Angelina Johnson managed a weak smile. 

"Oh, do I _not_ like the looks of that," said Bruce. 

"I thought he got rid of the Skrewts!" said Mervin, his voice high-pitched with nerves. "I thought they killed each other off" He put his hands to his face suddenly in horror. "He's been away growing more!" 

Even the Gryffindors who had overheard him looked stunned at the thought. 

"Come on, you lot," called Hagrid, happily gesturing with his goat carcass. "Got a fair walk into the forest, so stay close, no stragglers 'less you're hoping for a messy death." 

He chortled like Father Christmas, waved a hand at the astonished class, and began the trek into the Forbidden Forest. 

Under the rustling sheet of snow, the Forbidden Forest looked very different than it had during the Mooncalf dance but it was not much brighter, and no less foreboding. The branches hung heavy with mounds of snow; strange and unfamiliar tracks wound around the forest floor. The class plowed along in Hagrid's path in two little clusters, unwilling to stray too far apart in the cluttered woods. It didn't take long for Beth to become completely lost; if not for the wide path of upturned snow, she would have never known where the castle lay. 

Hagrid stopped them in a wide circular clearing, tossing down the dead goat. "Here we are, then," he said proudly. "Jus' be quiet now for a momen', the blood'll attract 'em." 

"Did he say the _blood_ will attract them?" said Aaron, his eyes growing round. 

"I _hate_ this class," Melissa whispered ferociously. The Slytherins had gathered against a wide tree trunk and were mostly pressed against it, as if ready to bolt into the branches at the sight of danger. "Why am I still in it? This isn't worth a stupid N.E.W.T. I don't want to die for a _N.E.W.T_." 

"Hush," said Bruce, his eyes fixed on the trees opposite. "They're here." 

Beth turned to follow his gaze but saw nothing; only the swaying of branches and the rustling of underbrush. Then those same branches began to sway oddly, tossed by a jet of wind, and soft prints appeared in the snow where no beast stood. 

_Invisible,_ Beth thought, and her chest constricted in real fear. A Blast-Ended Skrewt was one thing, which could be faced head-on (or could have been, had they heads); an invisible creature, whose form, manner, and even location could not be known, was something entirely different. 

Like a fish on a hook, the dead goat began to jerk back and forth by an unseen force. Then two forces ... a leg came off and Alicia Spinnet had to turn away to muffle a gag. 

Hagrid came forward to the embattled goat, beaming fondly at a space a few feet above the bloody snow. "Here they are," he said proudly. "Thestrals. I reckon I've got the only tame herd in Britain. Now who can see 'em?" 

That sounded like an odd question to Beth, but both Bruce and Mervin raised their hands, along with a handful of Gryffindors. Before she could wonder what sort of invisibility was conditional, Angelina Johnson spoke up: "How come they're invisible to most of us, Hagrid?" 

"Ah," said Hagrid, nodding at her. "Anyone?" 

"You can only see them if you've watched someone die," came a dejected voice. 

Mervin had spoken. He was watching the pieces of the goat twist in the snow, leaving trails of blood, disappearing bit by bit. 

Hagrid nodded. "Righ', your family's in the winged horses, eh, Fletcher? Thestrals'll only appear to people who've seen death." He reached out and patted the empty air. 

Alicia Spinnet turned to her classmates helplessly, as if looking for guidance. "What do they look like?" 

"Dead dragons," said Mervin gloomily. 

Angelina Johnson dug in her backpack and extracted her Care of Magical Creatures textbook; balancing it on one arm, she flipped through the index. 

"It's under Winged Horses," Lee Jordan offered helpfully. 

"Hey, thanks, Lee." Johnson flipped back a few pages. 

"No problem. So, there's this Hogsmeade trip in February, d'you want to" 

"No, Lee." She found the page and held it open; Slytherins and Gryffindors alike crowded around to have a look at the textbook drawing. 

Mervin's description had not been far off: the picture showed a skeletal black horse with tattered fetlocks and mane, wild white sunken eyes, and the vast leathery wings of a bat. (The picture showed them with their wings outstretched, but Beth eyed up the small space of the clearing and decided they must be holding them close to their bodies.) She imagined those wasted flanks and shabby hides all around her, and drew in closer to the others. 

Bit by bit the meat was disappearing from the long-scattered bones of the goat, rising to chest height before flapping in the air and finally vanishing. 

"Horses don't eat meat," said Melissa, her eyes twitching this way and that as she tried to glimpse that which she could not see. "It's unnatural." 

"These do. They're bad luck," Mervin said gloomily, watching a shred of meat dangle in the air. 

Lee Jordan, who had always been good at Care of Magical Creatures, said, "That's just an old story." 

"Did you ever try to clean up after an animal that leaves invisible poop?" Mervin retorted. "Trust me, they're bad luck." 

One of the Weasley twins had begun to advance forward, hands outstretched like a blind man. His brother hovered close behind. "Where are they, Hagrid?" He drew back his fingers suddenly, as if they had brushed a hot iron. "I think I just touched one!" 

"That yeh did," Hagrid chortled. He was clearly delighted with the way things were going, as usual oblivious to the majority of his students. "Tha's Tenebrus, my pers'nal favorite firs' one born in the forest." 

Both of the Weasleys put out their hands this time, cautiously, and soon they were running their hands over a patch of air that seemed to take form under their hands: clearly something was being defined by their motions, but its curves remained unseen. 

Beth felt something brush her side and nearly jumped out of her shoes; but it was only Melissa, nudging for her attention. "Look at Bruce." 

Beth had been so entranced in watching the Weasley twins that she had failed to notice that Bruce had moved apart from the group. He bent down and took a scrap of meat from the ground. Standing slowly, he held it out before him and began to advance into the forest, step by careful step, toward the middle of the blood-spattered clearing. 

He drew up suddenly, broad shoulders tensing. He stood still as a statue, feet shoulder-width apart, with one arm at his side and the other extended straight out from his body. For long seconds he didn't move a muscle. Then the meat between his fingers twitched and was tugged free. Bruce let it go and turned his hand to the bleeding air. Long red streaks appeared on his palm as he cupped the thestral's muzzle. Then he stepped forward, both hands lifted, and began to cautiously traverse a long face and thick neck, brow furrowed in deep concentration. 

Beth had always known that Bruce's father had died not long after his first year at Hogwarts, but he had always been so reserved that she had rarely wondered how much it must have affected him. She had never known her family as a child, and so had only mourned them in a vague and general way. Watching Bruce stroke the thestral's neck a right he had won in his father's death she was not sure which of them had been the luckier. 

-'-'-

Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class predictably, the one with Potter in it was observed by Professor Umbridge the following day. Judging by the way Draco and his classmates were congratulating each other, it hadn't gone well for Hagrid. 

"And how can you blame her?" wailed Melissa. "Thestrels, I ask you..." 

Mervin reckoned that Professor Grubbly-Plank would be back in a week. 

The Guild, they found that evening, was equally interested in the results of Hagrid's review. 

"Hagrid," explained Anthony Goldstein with an air of patient superiority, "while unqualified for the position, is still outside of the influence of Professor Umbridge. If she is able to exercise her powers as Inquisitor and remove him, she will undoubtedly be permitted to fill the position with someone intended to further her own agenda which, though as yet unknown, I believe we can agree, cannot be in the best interest of the school." 

"Well put, Goldstein," Deirdre told him, "though wordy." Anthony looked slightly injured. "She has been taking statements from the students regarding Hagrid's performance," she addressed the assembly. "It is in our interests to avoid giving her a reason to sack him. Is that clear?" 

The silence was understood to mean "Yes." 

"Comments?" 

Kiesha, draped as usual across an armchair, bent back her head to look upside-down at Bruce. "Sorry about your humiliating loss to Gryffindor." 

"Yours is coming," said Bruce. The loss hadn't been so bad, just the aftermath. Beth thought he was taking it very well. 

"Is that in the least relevant?" inquired Deirdre, glaring at Kiesha. 

"No, Mad-Eye," said Kiesha humbly. 

"I just want to know where he's been," Cho said, leaning forward with her chin resting on her fist. "It's so odd, not to make any mention, and in such a state I do hope he hasn't been trying to catch us an Erumpet or something," she added, a sudden alarm in her dark eyes. 

Mervin spoke up with a mischievous grin. "You could see if anyone knows in the Devil's Advocate whoops, Dumbledore's Army..." 

"Cut that _out,_" said Michael irritably. "I told you, my girlfriend came up with" 

"Oh, is she going to beat us up?" 

"Enough," said Deirdre sharply, just as Melissa snickered. "Cho, do see if anyone in the D.A. may have heard anything. Hagrid is very close to Potter. I would begin there." 

"Great excuse to chat," Kiesha noted, nudging her friend, who blushed and ducked her head. 

"There are now a mere five weeks remaining in the term," Deirdre went on, imperial as always, "and we have yet to learn anything of significance. Headmaster Dumbledore has charged us with being an investigative, self-sufficient, but most of all well-informed segment of the student body. I need not remind you that Rowena Ravenclaw herself has charged us with much the same thing." She nodded toward Melissa. "Likewise your own founder, in his way." 

She turned back to face the gathering as a whole. "There is still a great deal to be learned," she said gravely. "We must make more of an effort to find it. Knowledge is, after all, the greatest power. We can never know when our power may be needed." 

Beth agreed; but she found herself hoping that the situation would never be so dire that the Ravenclaws were needed. 

-'-'-

A chilly November turned into a frigid December. With both Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures outdoors, nearly every day involved slogging through thick, wet snow. Beth took to wearing two pairs of socks and keeping an extra pair in her knapsack. 

Slytherin house remained buoyed by Gryffindor's misfortune after the Quidditch game. Montague was the hero of the moment and his Keeper's disapproval wasn't denting his glory a bit. He reveled in the attention, winking at every Slytherin girl who dropped him a smile and ruffling first-years' hair in passing. It didn't seem to matter that they'd lost the game. With Gryffindor short their three best players and lacking a reserve team, they had been virtually knocked out of the running. 

Beth found most of her time eaten away by N.E.W.T. practices on Wednesday, Guild meetings on Tuesday, and potions-grading for Professor Snape every other afternoon. Her time in the library became rare, just an in-and-out to pick up reference materials, and she almost came to relish a quiet hour among the stacks with a Potions text. 

She was just headed off to one of those blissful hours, at the brink of sunset one snowy afternoon, when she happened to spot Evan Wilkes alone at a table near the back. He had no books on the table, but nearly a ream of loose parchments scattered around him. He had his head down and was writing fast, dead focused, his slender black quill flying across the page. 

It was unusual to see Evan working so hard. Beth realized (with a slight apprehension) that she did not yet know what he was doing for his final Alchemy project, although she had asked numerous times and knew, through Snape, practically everyone else's. Sucking up her courage, she hiked up her knapsack on her shoulder and started across the library to see what she could learn. 

She approached with a friendly smile, even though she knew it would probably just annoy him. "Hey, Evan. How's that Alchemy project coming?" 

Evan cast her an irritated glance. "What do you care?" 

"Just curious." Beth moved around the desk, angling to get a look at his papers, but Evan began collecting them together. "What did you say you were working on?" 

"You know, it's funny," said Evan, stuffing the papers into his knapsack, "I _didn't_ say. I wonder why that is." 

Beth took a gamble. "Maybe because I'd tell you to stop." 

Evan stood up. His face was fixed on the desk as he gathered his things into his knapsack and swung it onto one shoulder. Then he cocked his head thoughtfully and looked up at Beth through his dark fringe. 

"No," he said. "I don't think you would." 

He strolled out of the library without another word. 

Beth watched him go. She knew that Evan naturally tended to keep things to himself, but that knowledge made her no less nervous when he did. 

-'-'-

On the whole, though, the last few weeks of term were quiet ones. The regular slew of end-of-term tests, papers, and projects came due, but by that time it was old hat to the seventh-years; you could never fully be prepared for it, but at least you could anticipate the avalanche of work and decide how much worry to spend on it. Beth had told herself firmly that this would be the year to really buckle down, leave Hogwarts with a bang ... but when the time came, she found it hard to rustle up the energy or the anxiety that made good studying possible. 

"It's no use," she told Melissa at breakfast, just a few days before Christmas holidays. "I can't do it. I know I have to study, but I just don't _care_." 

"I should think," Melissa began hotly, "that between our final grades, and all that you-know-what, and the N.E.W.T.s, you would be motivated to..." She trailed off and gazed down at her porridge despondently. "Oh, who am I kidding? I don't care either." 

Bruce came to plunk down across from them. "Senior slump," he diagnosed, getting himself some porridge. "When the end it in sight, all you want to do is get out of the tunnel." He took a huge spoonful and swallowed thoughtfully. "Except I got it about three years ago." 

"Bruce!" 

Sally Bletchley hurried toward the table, eyes alight. Bruce whipped his head toward her, alarmed, but relaxed as she approached. She sat down among them and addressed her brother with barely a pause for breath. "Harry's gone." 

Bruce lowered the spoon that was already halfway to his mouth, looking stunned. "Potter's gone?" 

"Gone," Sally repeated firmly. Beth and Melissa exchanged glances. "I simply had to tell you, Bruce. He left last night. It's something of a secret. I heard it from Euan. And Euan has a sister in third year who has a friend in fifth year, who heard it from Dean Thomas and that Irish boy. Professor McGonagall said they shouldn't tell," she said solemnly, leaning forward, "but they did. So it can't hurt to tell you, can it?" 

Bruce actually looked slightly hurt that she would even weigh the question, so Melissa said quickly, "Of course not." 

"Right," Sally repeated, nodding. 

"So what happened?" Beth pressed. 

"Well." Sally glanced about, as if to be sure that Professor McGonagall wasn't right there listening, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "The fifth-year boys were all asleep, and then in the middle of the night Harry woke up screaming about a snake!" She shuddered a little. "Then he threw up right on the floor." 

"Ha!" Bruce looked entirely too delighted by the news. "What then?" said Melissa hurriedly, to distract Sally who was looking at her brother with irritation. 

"Then they got Professor McGonagall," she said simply, "and she took him and Ron away. And they never came back. And then in the morning the twins and Ginny were gone too." 

"Maybe they're gone for good," said Bruce, looking like this was too much to hope for. 

Sally ignored her brother. "I don't know why everybody had to leave because Harry had a bad dream," she said. "It doesn't make sense, does it? But I suppose as it's _Harry Potter_..." 

Bruce made a noise of impatience. 

"He's quite handsome," Sally said thoughtfully, with her head on her fist. "And he's very kind. But he seems so sad..." 

"_'A boy like no other, perhaps, yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence,_" Bruce quoted in a bored tone, and Beth recognized the words from an article about Potter the previous year. "_'Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss_...'" 

"Don't make fun!" said Sally, annoyed. 

"Why not, it's not as if the little toerag can hear us," said Bruce irritably. 

"Because it's not nice!" 

"Who _cares?_" 

"I do!" Sally's face was red. "I know you don't like him but he's _decent_ and there's no reason for you to go after him all the time you don't even know him and you hate him so much and he's an orphan and _I bet he misses his dad just like us!_" 

Their father! 

Bruce looked as if he had been slapped. "Except we knew ours," he said, after a pause. 

"Then we're lucky," said Sally. 

"Excuse me." 

The voice was as pale as the speaker. Audra Verona had come up behind them and stood there quietly, wraithlike. When they had all turned to look at her, she turned faintly towards Melissa, then Beth. 

"I need to speak with you." 

Both of them stared at the white-haired girl, who gazed back motionlessly. Beth had never, ever heard her speak without being spoken to, let alone initiate a conversation. If Audra wanted to speak about something, then it needed to be heard. 

"All right," said Melissa, a bit nonplussed. "Let's find an empty classroom, shall we? Do you mind if the three of us come along?" 

Audra shook her head silently. 

"I'll stay," Bruce said hastily. "Come on, Sal, let's go for a walk." 

He and his sister made their way out to the grounds while Beth and Melissa led Audra out of the Great Hall. 

Melissa found an unused classroom down the first corridor. She ushered them into it and closed the door behind them. "Well," she said, after making sure it was tightly closed, "what's up?" 

"He was here last night," said Audra quietly. 

Beth's heart gave a cold lurch. "He who?" she asked quickly, though she thought she knew. 

"The Dark Lord." 

Melissa went pale as a sheet and put both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were round and fearful. "Where?" she said unsteadily. 

"Inside." Audra gazed from one of them to the other. "I felt him here. But not in person." 

Melissa sat down in one of the chairs as if she was suddenly too weak to stand. "I thought he couldn't see us through the crypt." 

"He can't," said Beth, "I tried it myself." 

"But he was here somehow ... is he still?" Melissa said anxiously. 

Audra shook her head. 

Melissa put a hand to her head in what in another person might have been an affectation. "Unbelievable..." She took a deep breath. "Audra is it safe for us to warn the Guild? We won't tell them about you, of course," she added hastily. 

Audra shrugged. 

"Then we'll see what they think," Melissa figured, "maybe they'll go to Dumbledore for us, or be able to figure out how he got in" 

The class bell rang overhead. Melissa scowled upward at the interruption. "Later, then," she told Beth, as the three of them left the classroom. "We'll catch her in the library. If there's one place you can count on finding a Ravenclaw, it's the library." 

-'-'-

"Mad," said Deirdre firmly. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"You're both mad." Deirdre looked from one to the other with cool confidence. "There's no chance. Not a chance." 

Melissa kept her own cool, though it looked like a difficult job. "We're one hundred percent certain." 

"Oh? You saw him, then?" 

Her disbelief was plain from the idle unconcern in her tone. 

"One of us saw him, yes." 

"Which one?" 

The polite, incredulous tone was suddenly strikingly familiar to Beth: she sounded just like Professor Umbridge, interviewing the professors. 

"I can't tell you which one," said Melissa. Her aggravation was starting to show. "Deirdre, we're telling you this because there is a danger to the school, to us, and to you. You need to trust us." 

"There is no lack of trust," said Deirdre flatly. "You have simply failed to provide any proof that any of your claims are valid. What makes you so certain that he was inside the castle, when a thousand spells and the presence of Dumbledore are keeping him out? How, for that matter, did you come to be so certain that Umbridge is not working for the Dark Lord?" 

Beth was starting to hate the girl's clinical tone. 

"We didn't say she wasn't working for him," Melissa said, her voice turning edgy, "we said she wasn't a Death Eater." 

"But where is your _proof?_" 

"We have proof we just can't tell you!" 

"If you want our help, you must earn it!" 

"If you ever actually trusted us, we wouldn't have to!" 

The Presidents glared at each other. Then, at virtually the same moment, they spoke again. 

"This isn't working." 

"We are not helping each other." 

"There's no point in continuing." 

"We should have kept to ourselves." 

"We should have kept our secrets." 

It was impossible to tell who said what, but both Melissa and Deirdre meant the same thing. 

That was that. Melissa left the library, Beth with her; Deirdre stayed and bent her head over her book. There was no acrimony on either side, only a frigid chill. The split had been complete and it had been final. 

-'-'-

Beth didn't speak to another Ravenclaw for the rest of term; several days later, they boarded the Hogwarts Express for Christmas holidays. Nobody mentioned the Guild of the Eagle on the trip to London. Bruce and Kiesha, for the first time in memory, got a compartment by themselves. 

Beth took the Floo Network back home from the station. 

The banshee appeared on Christmas Eve, wailing and crashing around outside of their living room window. Beth and her father waited, perfectly still, watching each others' faces, until she screeched out her final cry and vanished. Then they both went back to their reading. 

On New Year's Eve they stayed up until midnight, playing cards with Mr. and Mrs. Scamander until the Wizarding Wireless Network counted down to the new year and fireworks exploded from the radio. 

"Happy New Year, Bethy," said Mr. Parson, as the Scamanders vanished into the Floo network. 

"I hope it's better than the last one," said Beth. 


	19. The Visitor

**Chapter Nineteen: The Visitor**

Christmas holidays passed far too quickly. Beth immersed herself in her chores (there were parts of the house that hadn't been cleaned since she had left that summer) and spent her free hours reading through her favorite old paperbacks. Whenever something unpleasant came to mind the banshee, the Dark Lord, N.E.W.T.s, Riggs, the Guild she forced it away. _Vacation is supposed to be restful,_ she thought stubbornly. _Darn it, I'm going to rest._ And she was largely successful ... although she found that ignoring her troubles was nearly as tiring as facing them. 

The day the Hogwarts Express was to carry her back to school, Beth spent the morning packing and then made lunch for both of them. Afterward, she filled the sink and got to work on the dirty dishes while Mr. Parson settled in the living room with the morning paper. Washing dishes had been one of her least favorite jobs as a child, but these days she found it soothing; it was mindless work, but attention-consuming, with a tangible and pleasing result. 

There came a slow knock at the door. 

"I've got it, Dad," she called over her shoulder. She wiped her hands on the dishtowel and flung it onto the counter. Back in the den, she heard her father call back, "I'll be there in a moment, Bethy," and there came the creak of a chair and slow footsteps down the hall. 

Crossing the kitchen swiftly, Beth tugged open the front door. 

A sharp whirl of snow burst into the kitchen, and a freezing chill. Beth stared into the face of a tall man, blonde and ragged, no longer young but yet not so old his grizzled hair was nearly as gray as her father's, his broad shoulders held a stoop. 

She recognized him instantly. She was afraid to say his name. 

Mr. Parson came into the kitchen. He stopped dead in the doorway and stared past Beth at the figure enveloped in snow. 

The world was very still. 

The man spoke. His voice was harsh, a rusty gate hinge. There was no love in his voice. 

"Da. I'm home." 

Beth moved backward, slowly, until she was pressed against the kitchen counter. The man followed her inside. His gait was stiff; his eyes, in the glow of the kitchen, shimmered madly. 

Mr. Parson raised one trembling hand to his mouth. Finally, he spoke. 

"_Chris._" 

Chris Parson barked a terrible laugh. "Hullo, Da." 

Mr. Parson was white as a sheet. "How ... are you here?" 

His oldest son staggered closer; his was the unsteady gait of the mad, a swaying, unsure rhythm in his movements. "No welcome, Da? No k-kind words?" He raised a shaking hand suddenly and swung it to point at Beth. "W-w-who's that?" 

His father took a step to meet him. "Chris, that's Beth. Remember?" 

Chris sneered. "C-couldn't do without, c-could you? Isn't she a bi-bi-bit young for you, D-da?" 

Beth's face flushed a burning red. He thought she was ? She opened her mouth but couldn't bring herself to speak. 

"Chris, that's your sister," said Mr. Parson in a low voice. He had both hands extended toward his son. "Elizabeth. She was just a baby. Do you remember...?" 

"D-don't _fool_ me," Chris snarled. "Mother w-will w-want to know. She was p-p-prettier," he added, with an ugly look at Beth. 

Beth forced herself to breathe evenly. _He's raving,_ she thought to herself, very clearly. _He's as crazy as I thought_... She put her hand on the counter and let it snake toward her wand, laid out beside the clean dishes. 

Mr. Parson, who had been advancing slowly, stopped suddenly. "Your mother," he said, in hardly more than a whisper. "Is she with you?" 

"She's in the w-walls," said Chris. 

His voice was rusty and thoroughly empty of sense. 

"Please sit down, Chris," said Mr. Parson softly. 

"_Did you h-h-hear me?_" Chris screamed suddenly, and Beth pulled back, heart pounding. "_She's in th-th-the walls! I c-can hear her c-c-cry!_" He gripped his head between two clawing hands; the pads were rough, the nails torn and dark. "And I h-h-hear" 

"Chris..." 

Beth's seeking fingers closed on her wand. 

"_In th-the w-w-walls!_ A-and you with this h-h-harlot !" 

"_Christopher!_" 

"Keep away from me!" Suddenly Chris had a wand clenched in his white-knuckled hand. "Why didn't you keep them from taking me? I thought you'd keep them from taking me b-but they th-th-they did" 

Mr. Parson had his hands to his sides and was breathing very slowly and deliberately. "You need to sit down, Chris," he said, with quiet authority, "or you need to leave." 

"_Catalepsia!_" 

A bolt of golden light exploded from Chris's wand and hit his father full in the chest. The old man flew backward several feet. He thudded to the floor. 

Beth might have screamed, or not; but before she had taken her eyes from her father, she had her wand pointed at Chris. "Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" 

Chris stared at her in amazement as his wand was wrenched from his grip and clattered against the wall. 

"Get out of here!" Beth's voice was shrill; she didn't notice. "Go away! Get out or I swear I'll kill you!" 

Chris sneered, his eyes glinting madly. "You couldn't k-kill me, you t-t-twopenny _whore_" 

"_Crucio!_" 

Her brother was blasted back into the wall. He hit it hard and slid down, eyes wide. Almost immediately, he scrambled to his feet. 

"Get out!" 

Chris Parson staggered to the door, fumbled it open, and stumbled into the cold night. 

Beth dashed to the door and threw herself against it, grappling with the lock. Her chest heaved. Somewhere inside she knew she had just cast an Unforgivable curse, and couldn't believe what she had done but there was no time to listen to that voice. She slammed shut the deadbolt and scrambled to her father's side. 

Mr. Parson lay stretched on his back in the hallway. His eyes were closed; his shallow breaths seemed too fast, too loud. Beth shook his shoulders desperately. His slack face never flickered. 

The scream of the banshee rang in her ears. 

They had to get out. Beth rushed to the fireplace. She grabbed the urn full of Floo powder with the tips of her fingers and hurled the whole thing into the fire. The porcelain shattered; billowing clouds of green smoke blasted out, filling the room with glittering embers and a cloying stench. Beth hooked her other hand underneath her father's shoulder. "_Hospital!_" she practically screamed; then she dragged her father into the flames, and they were surrounded by the whirling network of fireplaces. 

Violent motion terrifying speed then a lurching halt, a sudden jolt. Beth was thrown to a floor of white marble, dizzy and desperate, and immediately began struggling to her feet. "My Dad" she began shrilly, not knowing where she was, but suddenly she was surrounded by strong hands, confident faces, starchy cloaks of lime green she was being moved, someone was trying to drag her away, she tried to fight her way back someone had her by the shoulders, they were looking her dead in the face and speaking. She forced herself to hear them. 

"It's all right, we have him now, you're both safe, we'll take good care of him Pye, would you please" 

Beth felt a sharp rap on her head. Her breathing slowed ... things started to come into focus. A round-faced woman, brown hair in an untidy bun, smiled gently at her, while still keeping a firm grip on Beth's shoulders. A young wizard came around beside her, a concerned look on his face. 

"There now," the plump witch was saying, "a good Calming charm helps, doesn't it? Thank you, Pye," she added, to the young wizard, who nodded. "Now let's get you to a chair, eh? Our healers are taking care of that man right now." She guided Beth to a folding chair and very firmly pushed her down into it. Sitting down across from her, she leaned toward Beth, took both her hands, and went on: "Please relax, dear, and try to tell us as much as you can about what happened." 

Beth took a deep breath. She had barely had time to realize what had happened. She opened her mouth to speak and stopped herself. These people mustn't know that Chris was the attacker. 

"A man," she said slowly, "came into our house, and and hexed my father." 

"Can you remember the spell he used?" the witch persisted. 

"Cana ... catastro ... catal ... I don't know, I'm not good at Charms!" Beth fought the temptation to stand up again. "Where am I, what are you doing to him?" 

"Hush," the witch said, firmly but kindly. "You're in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. You're father's in the hands of trained Healers, I promise they're doing all they can for him. Now, the spell that was used. Does the word _catalepsia_ ring a bell?" 

"I don't know," said Beth, trying to look over her shoulder, but her father was nowhere in sight. "Yes. That sounds like it." 

The witch smiled and patted Beth's knees. "Thank you. Pye, go tell the others," she ordered, and the young wizard hurried away. "As for you you did a very brave thing, bringing him all this way." 

Beth couldn't reply. She didn't feel remotely brave she felt muddled and useless, as if she had botched up everything. And somehow it was all her fault. She should have tried harder to protect her father ... how had Chris even known where to find them? Had Lycaeon told him? What had he come for...? 

A steaming mug was placed in her hands and she took a sip without wondering what it was. It turned out to be hot chocolate; she took another, longer drink and looked around for the first time. The room was white-walled and squarish; fireplaces lined two of the walls, and a third opened directly into a hallway. A large plaque bore the words "Crisis and Urgency Access Center." There were several round, white tables, and of all things a black iron stove with a steaming teapot, hung with colorful potholders. 

Beth put down her mug. Almost immediately, the plump witch bustled over and sat down again. "That's better now, isn't it, dear?" she said, and seemed pleased when Beth nodded. "Very good. I'll still need you to tell me some more about the patient, if you think you can." 

"I can," said Beth, almost scornfully. She instantly regretted her tone, but the witch never seemed to notice. "His name is William Parson." 

"Age, please?" 

"Seventy-one." 

"And will he be a wizard or a Muggle, then?" 

"A Squib." She felt an unexpected flush of shame, and hated herself for it. 

The witch nodded. "I'll expect you'll want to file a report with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she said, looking up at Beth. "Now please hold still while I perform a Recurrus spell ... it's simple and painless, it'll help us record the things that you saw..." 

Beth froze. She had been the recipient of a Recurrus spell once before, after a break-in at Gringotts four years ago. It showed exactly what she had seen ... and it would reveal Chris's face to the Ministry. 

"No," she said quickly, "no. That won't help. I I wasn't there when it happened. I only heard it. From the living room." She didn't know why she was protecting her brother, only that it was vitally important that no one find out who had attacked them, or why. 

"I see." The witch looked disappointed. "Could you give a statement, at least ?" 

"No," said Beth again, "I don't want to press charges, I just want it all to be over." She had never said anything so true in her life. "Where is my father?" 

"Your father is being stabilized," said the witch, with patience learned in many years' practice. "What is your name, please?" 

"Beth, Beth Parson." She was distracted, trying to see out the door. 

"Then listen to me, Beth, you need to help us." Beth focused in again. "The thing we need you to do is wait here. Relax." The witch patted Beth's arm, with a comforting smile. "Your father will be fine. Have some more cocoa. There are magazines along the wall. If you want to stretch your legs, you might take a jaunt up to the visitor's tea room, it's on the fifth floor." She patted Beth's arm again. "The Healers are doing what they do best. When it's time, I promise, they'll get you the moment they can." 

Something about the warmth, the calmness of the woman made her words hit home. Beth sat back in her chair with a little sigh. Of course she couldn't see him; she'd only get in the way. And of course he was in the best hands, in the safest place possible. "Where are the magazines?" she said wearily. 

The witch beamed. "Just there, in the rack by the stove," she said kindly. "Shall I fetch you an issue of _Miss Magic_?" 

"I think I'll look for myself, thanks," said Beth, getting to her feet. _Miss Magic_ was intended for the kind of person that Antigone von Dervish had been at the age of twelve. She was not in the mood for teeny-bopper beauty tips and hints on first-level love potions. She thumbed through the selection, pulled out an old _Quidditch Quarterly_ and last month's Journal of British Alchemy, and went back in her seat. 

The waiting was dreadful. The comforting feel of magazines in her hands didn't stamp out the unearthliness of the bleak walls and white floors. Three times, the fireplaces along the far wall spat out another patient: One with the dragon pox, itching and sneezing flame, one with a broken leg and leaves in her hair, and the third bleeding badly from the side of his head. Every time Beth glanced up, thought, _That's nothing compared to what happened to Dad_, and went back to her magazines. 

She read them both through and didn't remember a word. 

She was halfway through an ancient _Witch Weekly_ (the one with the entire sappy article about Harry Potter, which Beth practically knew by heart from all the times her classmates had quoted it) when a wizard came up behind her. 

"Miss Parson?" 

Beth looked up quickly, letting the magazine fall shut. 

"Your father's stabilized. Would you like to go see him?" 

Beth stood up so fast she knocked the chair over. "Yes," she said, blushing furiously, as she righted the chair. "Yes, please." 

The Healer led her through white, portrait-lined hallways and up the stairs to the fourth floor. He opened a bland door just like all the others along the hall and entered; Beth hurried behind him. 

There were two other inhabitants in the room, each lying perfectly still, although one was floating about six inches above the surface of the bed and staring at the ceiling. Mr. Parson occupied the middle bed. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. The Healers had swathed a wide white bandage around his head. 

"He took quite a fall," the wizard said. "We did a counterspell to the Catalepsia Curse, but it's the lump on his head keeping him out now. All we can do is wait." He looked at Beth. "Will you be heading off to Hogwarts tonight? First day of term is tomorrow, you know." 

"I'm staying," Beth said shortly. She didn't like to look at her father, helpless and small in the hospital cot, but she couldn't take her eyes away from him either. 

"Then we'll alert the Headmaster," said the wizard. He waved his wand and a large brown armchair appeared beside Mr. Parson's cot. "Just ring if you'd like a pillow," he said courteously. "It's nearly lights-out for our patients." 

"Thank you." 

The wizard left. Beth, looking at her father with love and dread, was finally able to think. 

He was all she had. It had never even occurred to her that she might lose him this early. He was old, and showing it he had never been especially quick or sharp but he was solid. He was always there. She couldn't even remember the last time he had taken ill. 

"Don't you dare," she whispered. "Don't you dare." 

She curled up in the brown armchair, chin tucked to her knees. "Don't you dare..." she said again, in a voice so low that even she could barely hear herself. 

Lights-out came soon, but Beth was already asleep and didn't notice. 


	20. Croaker and Bode

**Chapter Twenty: Croaker and Bode**

Beth woke up around dawn. Her father did not. 

Blearily, brushing hair from her eyes, she staggered into the hallway and wandered around until she found a ladies' washroom. After splashing some cold water on her face and tying back her hair, she returned to the ward. 

A Healer had come in and was looking her father over, scrawling something on a clipboard. Beth came instantly alert. "What is it?" 

"Routine check," the Healer said cheerfully. "He's no worse. Go on up to the visitor's tea room and have some breakfast. It's on the fifth floor." 

Breakfast had been the last thing on Beth's mind, but at the mention of the word her stomach clenched longingly. She had not eaten since lunch the previous day. 

"All right..." she said reluctantly, looking at her father's motionless face. "You'll call me if..." 

"We'll summon you the moment anything changes," the Healer said immediately, and steered her towards the door. "There you are, up the stairs and straight on." 

Beth took the stairs slowly, sore from sleeping crunched into an armchair. At the very top of the stairs she found a brightly-colored door with the words "Visitor's Tearoom" in golden print. Beth slipped inside self-consciously and located a kettle with hot water and a tin of tea bags, beside a large basket full of muffins. She made herself some strong tea, picked up a muffin, and looked around for a place to sit. 

There was only one other person in the visitors' tearoom: a beak-nosed wizard, dressed in black from the cap on his head to the ribbed turtleneck to the scuffed shoes. Then he looked up from his mug of coffee, and Beth nearly dropped her own teacup in surprise. 

"Croaker!" 

A bright smile flew across the Unspeakable's face, though Beth thought he looked worn. "Blimey! If it ain't Miss Parson." He pulled out the chair beside him. "'Ow's me girl?" 

The question seemed to crowd her mind with everything that was wrong at that moment. "Not too great," Beth admitted, taking a seat. _My father's in a coma, my craziest brother escaped from prison, my boyfriend's playing dead, the Dark Lord owns me and someone in my family is going to die._ "Not great," she said again. 

"Sorry to 'ear that, mum," Croaker said. He fiddled with his coffee mug, not completely meeting her eyes. "Things ain't so well with me either, truth be told." 

Beth remembered what Richard had told her about the Unspeakables. "Bode?" she asked quietly, and Croaker nodded. "How is he?" 

"Not much of a conversationalist these days, old Bode," said Croaker. There was a kind of resignation in his flippancy. 

"I heard," said Beth. She glanced down at her tea, and gathered her nerve. "Croaker, what happened to him?" 

Croaker gritted his teeth. "Can't say as I know," he admitted. "That is to say, I think I oughta know somethin' it's back in me head, like but I can't bring it to mind" He slammed a fist down on the table suddenly. Both of their mugs shook; some of Beth's tea slopped over the rim. "Pardon me, mum," he said bleakly, reaching out to mop up the spilled tea. "It's frustrating, like..." 

"It's all right," said Beth quietly, laying down some napkins over the spill. 

The Unspeakable slugged back his coffee as if he wished it was something stronger, and Beth recalled the first time she had met the pair of them. One of them had told her, _"They send us out an' bring us back, wipe our minds, so's we can't tell wot we've been up to. That's why you've got to have a partner reminds you why you wake up to a day you won't remember."_ They relied on each other. Beth couldn't imagine what it had been like for Croaker, to spend those weeks without a mainstay. 

"Has he improved?" 

Croaker brightened. "Bloody roight 'ee has, movin' an' tryin' to speak an' so forth. I got 'im a calendar for Christmas an' 'ee sits up t'look at it every day now. Almost speakin' again. I think old Bode's been practicin' 'is Ancient Runes, 'cos it's all Greek to me." His smile was half a grimace. He drained his coffee cup and set it back down. "I'd better get back down to 'im, see if breakfast was up to scratch, eh? Want to come down an' say hullo? Don't know for sure he'll reply, mind, but it could only do 'im good, mum." 

Beth finished her tea. "Yeah." 

Croaker led her back down the stairs to the fourth floor. "Oi've been keepin' watch, like," he told her. "Chartin' improvements. Ain't much else to do but sit an' watch..." He broke off again. 

Beth hurried to keep up with his stride. "Haven't you been working?" 

Croaker shook his head. "What good's an Unspeakable wi'out 'is partner, eh?" He pulled open a door which read simply, "Closed Ward". "I'm skiving orf until 'ee's cured. Wotcher, Alice," he added, cheerfully tipping his cap to a round-faced woman who hovered, wide-eyed and wild-haired, near the door. "Workin' indeed. Bode wouldn't stand for it" 

He faltered and stopped walking in mid-step. 

"_Bode_." 

Halfway across the room, the beak-nosed wizard lay still in his cot, pale face pointed to the ceiling. A smattering of earth was spread across the bedsheets. Long vines, their leaves dark and shining green, wrapped around his neck and face. A few torn leaves sprinkled his chest. 

"_Bode!_" 

Croaker tore across the ward, knocking a wheeled cart out of his way. He reached his partner's side and bent over him frantically; then he began ripping away the tendrils. They pulled apart with a harsh tearing noise and wound themselves around his arms, clinging to one Unspeakable even as they were wrenched from the other. When the thickest of the vines were pulled away, Croaker bent and pressed his ear against his partner's chest. 

There was a long, terrible silence. 

Croaker stood up slowly. His shoulders trembled. 

Beth stood rooted to the spot. She was afraid to move, afraid to speak. She felt the Society ring on her finger clench and grow cold, just as it had always done to mark the passing of another member. The dead man stared motionless at the ceiling. Bits of green still clung to his waxy cheeks. 

"No, you're not ever." Croaker's voice was little more than a murmur. "You can't. If you go I'll never remember at all." 

The ward was claustrophobically still. 

Croaker bent his head and began to sob. 

A green-cloaked lady orderly strode into the ward, cheerfully greeting the wild-haired Alice at the door, and proceeded merrily between the beds. Just a few paces from Croaker, she drew up suddenly and stared at the pair of them, and the tragic tableau they made. She turned on a dime and rushed from the ward, her calling voice ever dimmer as she vanished down the hall. 

"I oughta know." 

Croaker had spoken again; now angrily, thick-throated. 

"I think I oughta known what did this to you I think I oughta know what you did... There's somethin' I oughta know but I just can't _remember!_" 

As Beth watched, the unpartnered Unspeakable collapsed to his knees. She could neither go to him nor back away; she would not leave Croaker alone with his grief, and dared not intrude on it. 

There was a great bustling behind her, and a number of orderlies many carrying strange equipment swarmed around Bode's bed, almost tripping over the kneeling Croaker and completely obfuscating Bode from sight. One of them shoved Croaker away. He rocked backward and sat with a thud; not even bothering to move from the floor, he bent his head and put both hands over his face. 

A gloved hand dropped onto Beth's shoulder. 

"Miss Parson." 

Beth could barely tear her eyes away from the sight of Croaker. "What?" she said absently. 

"Your father's awake." 

-'-'-

Beth thudded down the stairs, ran through the hallways, and finally skidded into her father's hospital ward. 

She stopped breathlessly at the side of his bed. Mr. Parson, still lying down, turned his head toward her and gave her a slow smile. "Hullo, Bethy." 

"Hi." 

He raised an arm; Beth leaned forward and fell into his embrace. 

"I knew you'd be all right," she whispered, pulling back to gaze at his familiar, wrinkled face. 

Mr. Parson met her eyes. "Do they know ... what happened?" 

"No," said Beth firmly. "I told them it was an intruder and I didn't see his face." 

Mr. Parson smiled weakly and reached out a wrinkled hand to stroke her cheek. "That's my girl." He gave a shallow sigh. "No use making a bad thing worse." 

"No use," Beth echoed. It was hard to think of Chris when the joy of seeing her father awake again crowded everything else out of her brain. She broke into a smile. "It's Monday. You slept the night." 

"Did I?" Mr. Parson fixed her with a look. "You ought to be at Hogwarts, young lady." 

Beth smiled even wider. "I'll leave tomorrow." 

Mr. Parson settled back comfortably against his pillow. "Well, I guess you can take a day off." He reached over and picked up a newspaper from the bedside stand. "For that matter, so can I." 

-'-'-

"_Next stop, 'Ogsmeade Village!_" 

The Knight Bus came to a neck-breaking halt. Beth picked herself up off the floor, pulled her trunk off of a fellow traveler, bid a shaky "Thanks" to the spotty-faced conductor, and staggered out onto the sidewalk near the Three Broomsticks pub. The bus took off with a bang. Caught in its wind tunnel, Beth teetered and fell backwards over her trunk again. 

The sky was red with sunset; the hills around the village glinted gold. Beth gathered her things and set off down the path towards Hogwarts. It was a fairly long hike, particularly wheeling her trunk behind her, but after two days cooped in the hospital the exercise was very welcome. Her father had been given a clean bill of health by both wizard and Muggle standards. He would be released the next morning, with a warning to avoid heavily taxing activity and Floo travel for a week. 

No one had found out about Chris, true; but they also didn't know where he had gone, and that worried Beth more than she admitted. Before leaving the hospital she had made her father promise to get out his old Air Force revolver in case he came back. If it came down to the two of them, she knew which one she wanted alive. 

The path became snowier and less-traveled as she approached the castle. The iron gates swung open, after the winged iron pigs at the top had looked her over and decided she was a student; she hauled her trunk inside the grounds and made her way up the steps and into the Entrance Hall. 

Dinner, apparently, was over: the halls were empty. Beth put down her trunk and it instantly vanished; no doubt she would find it unpacked at the foot of her bed. Taking a deep breath, enjoying the damp familiar scent of the castle, she went downstairs to the dungeons. 

No sooner had she stepped into the common room than she heard a very familiar voice. 

"_Beth!_" 

Melissa dashed up and threw her arms around her. "You're all right, we were so worried!" 

"I'm fine," said Beth automatically. 

Melissa pulled back and held her at arms' length. "What happened? You didn't show up, and then the newspapers said" She stopped herself in time, biting her lip and glancing around the common room. "Come upstairs, will you? We need to talk." 

-'-'-

"It was in this morning's Daily Prophet," Melissa said, when they were both cross-legged on one of the canopy beds. "A dozen Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban." Beth stared at her: she hadn't know it was that bad. "We saw your brother's name it was, wasn't it?" she said anxiously, and Beth nodded. "I remembered him," Melissa said slowly, "he was so so hurt by the place he wouldn't look up when you called his name..." 

Beth looked down at her hands. She remembered it too; now she had another memory of her older brother to grapple with, far worse than the other. 

"Beth" Melissa hesitated for a moment. "You know, the story was in the newspaper, front page, and quite a few of the students receive it..." She braced herself and went on. "And, well, you should know. A lot of them know about it now. About you." 

"About me?" Beth grabbed involuntarily for her forearm. "What about me?" 

"No, not that," Melissa said hastily, "but your family they saw the name, and someone remembered something they'd heard, and someone else had read about the trial in a history book or something, and ... well, everyone knows," she said again. 

"Oh." The meaning sank in and Beth's heart took a cold plunge. _Everyone knows_ ... it was a secret fear of every Slytherin, that kind of exposure, and Beth knew her secret was worse than most. "Oh," she said again, feeling sick. "I think I'd like to stay up here for the rest of the evening." Until then she had been wanting to see the rest of her friends, find out how their Christmas had been. 

"I'll get my notes," said Melissa. There was more genuine tenderness in her voice than Beth could ever remember. "We ought to go over what you missed in class, these last two days." 

"All right." Beth made herself smile. "Did I miss much?" 

"Not comparatively." 


	21. News and Notices

**Chapter Twenty-One: News and Notices**

There was a new Educational Decree waiting for them the next morning. 

"Number Twenty-Six," Melissa read from the notice that had been affixed to the message board. "Teachers are hereby banned from giving their students any information that is not strictly related to the subject they are paid to teach." 

"She's mad," said Bruce bluntly. "Raving mad." 

"Do you think that goes for prefects too?" said Mervin to Melissa. "What if some firstie asks us where's the loo? Do we have to tell them?" 

"This," said Melissa, ignoring him, "is quite simply the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard of." She sighed. "Well, I suppose we'll have to live with it. I think I'll complement her on her foresight. What do you suppose brought it on?" 

"Fit of insanity," said Bruce, with dead certainty. He cast a glance toward Beth. "Anyway, maybe it'll distract everyone from the Azkaban breakout." 

Beth doubted it, but she gave him a smile just for trying. "That would be nice." 

The Great Hall, in fact, fluttered with whispered conversations as if everyone was worried that talking about non-subject material might be illegal for students too. The seventh-years took their usual place at the table. Aaron and Warrington were already there. Aaron raised his hand in greeting; but when he caught sight of Beth, his eyes widened. 

Beth sat down, steeling herself. She knew what was coming. 

"Beth!" Aaron gaped at her for a moment. Then: "Decided to filch a few more days of vacation, eh?" 

"Yeah," said Beth breathlessly. Her heart slowed down. She thought he was going to ask... 

"Take me with you next time," Aaron went on, reaching for the ketchup. "Wait won't be a next time, will there? No more long holidays at Christmas. Adrian's got a job and he only gets two twitchy days at Christmas and two at New Year's, it's a gyp is what it is..." He doused his eggs liberally. "Saw the new decree? I'm going to see if it keeps Flitwick from harping on the N.E.W.T.s all the time." 

Beth took a piece of toast. Good old oblivious Aaron. If only the rest of the student body was that dim... 

Aaron paused as if he'd had a thought and turned back to her. 

"So who's that guy escaped from Azkaban?" he blurted. "Your da?" 

Beth was almost too surprised to be insulted. "You've met my dad!" she said derisively. "That's my brother." 

"Oh." Aaron looked momentarily ashamed. Beth realized that the thing she had most dreaded the admission was already over. The worst had passed and she hadn't even noticed... 

Then Aaron pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his backpack and spread it out eagerly between them. He pointed to the picture of a man in the top left-hand corner of the front page. "Didn't I ever tell you about my cousins the Jugsons? Lots of times removed, of course looks like only one of 'em got out, doesn't it?" 

Beth stared at the newspaper. So it was more than just Chris... 

"Right," said Melissa, looking a little ashamed herself. "Remember I told you about my aunt once? She was married to him" She pointed to the photograph of Mulciber. "but she's remarried now. Has twins," she added, unnecessarily. 

Blaise Zabini, who had been passing, leaned over Melissa's shoulder to peer at the article. "He used to be a friend of my mother," she said, looking at Mulciber who leered back menacingly. "She's got photographs in the living room. And that's Draco's aunt and uncle." She tapped the photograph of the woman, captioned _Bellatrix Lestrange_, and the man in the next photograph over. 

"My grandfather used to work with Rookwood," inserted Antigone von Dervish, from down the table. 

"My cousin Mundungus knew him too," Mervin added. "Both spent a lot of time at the Ministry. On different sides of the witness box of course." 

Beth was speechless. Where she had thought herself alone, she was surrounded by peers. What had been her shame was others' pride. She met Melissa's eye, overwhelmed. 

"I told you once," said Melissa, casually, intentionally so. "In fifth year, after Lupin's awful boggart. We've all got someone. Remember?" 

"I remember," said Beth. But she had never believed it until now. 

-'-'-

Bruce had been partially right. Talk of Professor Umbridge's bizarre new decree diluted talk of the Azkaban breakout not to mention preventing any of the teachers from mentioning it. Aaron was delighted by the decree and spent Charms asking Professor Flitwick irrelevant questions to see if he would forget and answer them. Professor Vector, in Arithmancy, sideskirted the whole issue by putting an assignment on the board and making them work silently for an hour. The seventh-year Slytherins joined up again after lunch in History of Magic (which wasn't affected by the decree since Binns never spoke about anything _except_ the subject he was paid to teach) and spent the hour in their N.E.W.T.s primers while Bruce, whose turn it was to pay attention, doggedly took notes while slugging down coffee he had smuggled in from lunch. 

"Now," he said, on the way out to class, "we get to see if Umbridge sticks to her own decree." 

Beth glanced at him quizzically. 

"Umbridge? Isn't today Wednesday?" 

Melissa twisted her eyebrows uncomprehendingly; then her face cleared. "I'd completely forgotten, you weren't here! Hagrid's under probation. Umbridge was in his class on Monday, she's sure to be there today as well." 

"Ugh." The last thing Beth wanted was to spend another class with Umbridge. "I'm not surprised about the probation, though." 

"Of course not," said Melissa disdainfully, "he quite had it coming. Trying to teach about something that hardly anybody can even see! There won't be a thing about thestrals on the N.E.W.T.s. Wait and see." 

Beth let out a groan. She had barely even thought about the N.E.W.T.s since before Christmas. She started to wish she had just stayed in London. 

Speaking of London ! 

"Melissa," she said suddenly, "I saw Bode" 

But she was forced to break off. They had reached the paddock; sure enough, Professor Umbridge stood there in the snow, a flowery knit scarf around her neck and her beloved clipboard in her hands. Hagrid was nearby in his enormous overcoat, shuffling nervously in front of a large cage set behind him. As the students approached he gave them a wave and a nervous sort of smile. 

"Come on over, tha's right," he called, as the Slytherins and Gryffindors crowded around. "Got a bit of a treat for you for the start of term." 

A few people stepped backward. Hagrid had thought the Blast-Ended Skrewts were a "bit of a treat" too. 

"Now, eh they're a bit jumpy, I'll ask you not to make any quick motions or or, shout, or anythin'." He couldn't seem to keep his thoughts on track; the breaks in his speech coincided with the little glances he kept shooting at Umbridge, whose smile never left her face. "An' they may bite" 

"_Bite?_" spoke up Aaron incredulously. 

Beth knew what he was thinking. Practically all of Hagrid's animals had been known to bite, and he had never warned them about it. What on earth was he keeping in that cage? She began to wish she'd brought her dragon-hide gloves. 

Umbridge, meantime, leapt at Aaron's comment. "Incites fear in the students..." she muttered, not quite softly enough to hide her words behind the scratching of her quill, "threatens physical harm..." 

"Er" said Hagrid, reddening beneath his beard. "Well, yeah, they'll nip yeh on'y if they're afraid, jus' treat 'em right an' there's, er, nothin' to be afraid of..." 

"Plays down danger..." muttered Umbridge, scribbling all the while. 

Angelina Johnson glanced at her classmates for support, then spoke up, "We'd like to see them, all right, Hagrid?" 

Hagrid seemed grateful for her kind tone. "Righ'," he said, nodding. "Well here they are." 

He stepped aside. 

Lying in the bottom of a cage was a brown-and-white Jack Russell terrier, surrounded by at least seven puppies. 

Half the class crooned, while the other half breathed sighs of relief. 

"They're _precious!_" gasped Alicia Spinnet, coming a little closer to watch the puppies snuggling and play-fighting. "How old are they?" 

"Jus' a few weeks now," said Hagrid, sounding greatly relieved at the class reaction. "They're not mine, really, a chap in Hogsmeade had a litter well it wasn't him had the litter, it was Daisy there an' he loaned 'em to me for class..." He caught another glance at Professor Umbridge and trailed off. 

"They're they're adorable, Hagrid," said Angelina Johnson, "but are they um, they don't seem very magical." 

"Blimey!" said Hagrid, slapping a hand to his forehead, "I forgot to tell you! These ain't just terriers they're Crups!" 

He undid a flap at the top of the cage and reached inside. When his fist emerged again it held a squirming puppy, licking the snow from his thumb. He displayed it to the class. Protruding from the puppy's backside was a long forked tail. 

"Tha' tail's the only way t' tell the difference," he said, and handed it to Alicia. "Got to be removed after the firs' few weeks, that's why I had to bring young 'uns to show yeh." 

"_Hem hem_." 

It had to come sometime. Everyone turned toward Umbridge, who was simpering at her best. 

"Could you tell us, please, Mr. Hagrid, under what Ministry provision must a Crup's tail be severed?" 

A look of thorough blankness covered Hagrid's face. He tried to cover with a hasty laugh. 

"Un'er the sharpest one, would work the best ... heh heh, sever, sharp, get it..." He trailed off. 

Umbridge's smile never flickered. "Under which provision, Mr. Hagrid?" 

Hagrid's face, flaming now, was nearly buried in his collar, so intent was he on staring at the ground. "I, uh can't say's I know exactly," he muttered. 

"I see." Umbridge nodded, thoroughly unsurprised, and went back to her clipboard. "Fails to integrate basic government knowledge into lesson..." 

The tone of the lesson had been set. Crups were interesting, without a doubt, and the puppies were adorable, but Professor Umbridge's very presence had a way of tainting everything and everyone around her. Hagrid's uncharacteristic jumpiness, combined with the way Umbridge kept _Hem-hem_ing and asking little pointed questions, made it clear that the Hogwarts High Inquisitor was not only dubious of Hagrid's teaching skills: she was looking for a reason to sack him. 

"You're quite sure Umbridge isn't a Death Eater?" Melissa whispered to Beth, after Umbridge had made a big point about Hagrid's failure to mention the licensing procedure for Crup ownership. 

"If she is, she's sure missed a lot of meetings," Beth muttered back. 

The end of class came as something of a relief; they all handed back their Crups to Hagrid and hurried toward dinner, hoping that Umbridge was short and stocky enough that she couldn't catch up with them. 

"Another class with her!" Beth hissed, when she gauged they were safely away. "She's atrocious." 

"You should complain!" said Melissa. "I'm still in Divination, remember, that means I've got three classes with the old bag." 

"How does she do it?" said Mervin blankly. "It's like triple the load how can she possibly be showing up everywhere she's supposed to be?" 

"It's not like her own classes are that much of a strain," Bruce grumbled. This was a fact. D.A.D.A. had never been a more brainless way to pass the time, and that included the days when they had to watch Lockhart reenact his own exploits. The homework consisted of fill-in-the-blank sentences which could be filled out by flipping through the current chapter of Slinkhard. Umbridge had never given them an exam. She thought they were on chapter twenty-five. 

The seventh-years swarmed the Slytherin table and commandeered some rolls and a vat of stew from the firsties. 

"At least, Crups _are_ useful," Melissa went on, after they had started eating. "There was something on the O.W.L.s, remember? They're sure to turn up again on the N.E.W.T.s, don't you think?" 

"Melissa," said Bruce, ladling stew over a thick piece of bread, "I can't remember a single question from the O.W.L.s." 

"I can't remember them at all," Aaron claimed. "It's like I was asleep the whole two weeks, eh?" 

"Which explains your score perfectly," said Melissa, with something of an edge. 

To Beth's utter dismay, they spent the entire meal talking about N.E.W.T.s the one topic she didn't want to think about. It was so _big,_ so obviously important, yet she had absolutely no time to worry about it, and compared to everything else she had to worry about, it seemed so inconsequential. Melissa was nearly mad about them; even Aaron, who feigned indifference, had been recently studying more than in his first six years combined. 

After dinner the Quidditch boys went out to fly while Beth, Melissa, and Mervin trudged back to the dormitories. "You know, we _do_ have five more months," Beth reminded them, somewhat testily, as they entered the common room. 

"It took me _six_ months to learn Switching Spells," said Mervin bleakly. "I'm going to get another P in Transfiguration, I know it." 

He threw himself into an armchair. 

With no warning, a vast serpent slithered from behind the armchair and curled around Mervin's legs. 

Beth leapt backward but almost immediately her jaw dropped in astonished recognition. "That is _not_ who I think it is." 

The diamond-patterned scales were wholly familiar. 

"It's Gina," Mervin said guiltily. The snake raised her head at the sound of her own name. "She found my house over Christmas ... she was hurt, scared ... I couldn't just leave her..." 

"She was very good on the train back," Melissa added, a little hopelessly. 

Beth couldn't believe it. "Mervin, _do you know whose pet this is now?_" she hissed. 

Pain and anger flashed in Mervin's eyes. "She will always be _mine_," he hissed back. "Look at her, look what he was doing to her!" 

Beth got down on her knees and took a close look at Gina. Long scratches ran along her sides and back, and a set of parallel scoring marked the side of her head. One of her fangs had been broken off at the tip. 

"She got these in a fight," Beth guessed, holding the giant scaly head in both hands. "I saw her at Halloween. She looked fine then." 

"He put her up to it," Mervin seethed. "I know he did. She would never" 

Beth and Melissa raised their eyebrows. 

"Well, she would never try to attack someone that could do this much damage," Mervin finished. "She has more sense." 

"If she has more sense than you, that's nothing to brag about," said Melissa, her eyes flashing. 

"She ran away from him," said Mervin stubbornly, "and I'm keeping her until she wants to leave." He ran his knuckles over her head. "Isn't that right, girl?" 

Gina wrapped herself around his legs and settled her head comfortably between his feet, for all the world like a faithful dog. 

Beth shook her head with a little resigned sigh. It was nice to have Gina back, she couldn't deny that; but the last thing they needed was another point on which to butt heads with the Dark Lord. All in all, she thought the reappearance of Gina boded very ill. 

-'-'-

The Azkaban breakout remained the sole topic of conversation throughout January. It was interesting how many issues could relate back to it: memories of Sirius Black's break-ins and speculation on his whereabouts, murmurs about the usefulness of the Ministry, long arguments about how it might have been managed, and news of the most recent sighting (now popping up daily). 

The names of the victims Longbottom, Bones, Prewett came up more than the names of the Death Eaters themselves, and for that Beth was continuously grateful. She could still see her brother Chris in the doorway with snow on his shoulders. She still saw the strained face and dead eyes. She still heard the stammer of too many hours in despair. 

But while the outside world sought convicts, life inside Hogwarts was quiet. The Society kept its distance from the Guild, and vice versa; Kiesha and Bruce remained together, but they did so discreetly. The teachers taught and the students learned, or did a good job faking it; house points were given and taken, but these failed to hold the thrill that they had in first year. Beth and her classmates felt the passage of time with fresh pangs. The last half of the last year now it was down to a few months before the end. And, they presumed, some sort of beginning... 

Aaron had already put in an application with the magimechanical engineering firm his brother Adrian worked at, and been rejected. Bruce sent off letters requesting try-outs with his three favorite Quidditch teams, then his favorite ten, then all of the teams in the British Isles and twenty on the continent. (Except the Quiberon Quafflepunchers. "I speak the language," Bruce said, chucking his letter in the bin at the last minute, "but I couldn't _stand_ to wear the uniforms.") 

Beth had trouble imagining herself five years into the future. In truth, she was afraid to envision it, afraid to make assumptions. She finally understood why Vivian and Dell had postponed their wedding. Anything could happen a broken dream, once fully articulated, only becomes more difficult to bear. 

Finally, in the beginning of February not too far from the Valentine's Day Hogsmeade trip, Beth went down to the dungeons to grade potions for Snape and found him waiting there with a bundle of parchments in his hand, which he gave her without comment. 

"Thanks," said Beth, flipping through the papers. "What are these again?" 

"They are job applications," said Professor Snape. "Three, to be precise. All from institutions which I am told are in need of an entry-level alchemist." 

"Oh," said Beth, looking at them more closely. "Hey, wow. Thanks!" 

"You will also find," said Professor Snape, clearing his throat and turning away to fuss with some glass tubing, "three letters of recommendation." 

Beth looked down at the parchments in her hand. Among the forms and brochures were three sealed envelopes bearing the Hogwarts crest. 

"From you?" she said stupidly. 

Professor Snape glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow. "Need I retract them?" 

"No," said Beth, blushing heavily. "No, thank you." She realized what she had: letters of recommendation from the only potions teacher at the only magical school in the British Isles. "Thank you so much." 

"Thank you, Miss Parson," Snape returned gravely. "I am constantly beset by students. A few of them are actually capable. But is very rare to encounter someone who enjoys this discipline as I do." 

Then Snape turned to grade a pile of reports, and Beth put away the applications and letters and began checking the snake-blood content of some surprisingly good third-year potions, and neither of them spoke another word for the rest of the afternoon; but Beth thought that they finally understood each other. 

-'-'-

Beth returned to the common room after grading the potions, reading the applications as she went. One was for the Le Fay Center for Magical Research, which Beth had heard was part laboratory, part secondary learning. Word was that they had developed the Pax Lycanthrum werewolf potion with some researchers in Germany. The second was for Smoot and Biddle, a private company that had done everything from making Floo Powder mass-producible to helping Mrs. Skower perfect her All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. Both sounded all right for a start. Beth flipped them to the back of the stack and looked at the third. 

She stopped in the middle of the hall. 

The top of the purple application bore a wincingly familiar insignia: the large "M" seal of the Ministry. From the heading down it looked like any of the others fill in your personal information, qualifications, attach résumé please but the top bore the ominous marquee: Application for Employment: Department of Mysteries. 

All Beth knew about the Department of Mysteries was what Bode and Croaker had told her. (And look what happened to them, she thought, with an angry twist in her stomach.) She had no idea what they would need an alchemist for the two garrulous Cockneys didn't seem Potions-oriented to her but allowed that since no one, including the employees, knew exactly what went on down there, it was likely that many different disciplines were required. And would she be willing to give up all memories of the workplace, in return for the protection of a government job? 

Then again, the idea of being involved with England's top secrets was very tempting... 

She gazed at the application for a moment longer, then put them all back in her knapsack and continued to the dormitories. Perhaps she would apply and see what happened. Being an Unspeakable might be useful. It could even be fun. 

She thought of Croaker, memories of his best friend slipping through his fingers. 

She would apply and see, she decided firmly. After all, there were many months yet before she had to choose. 

Beth paused before the stone wall of the dungeons and spoke the password; as the hidden door swung open she stepped inside. At first glance, the common room seemed empty but no, there was a kind of commotion, and once she was inside and her field of vision widened, she saw nearly the entire house crowded around the fireplace. At the center of it stood Warrington and Antigone, in the middle of a blazing row. 

She spotted Melissa and sidled up to her. "What happened?" she muttered. 

"Warrington caught some kid eyeing up Antigone," Melissa whispered out of the side of her mouth, "and didn't threaten to beat him up." 

Beth let out a low whistle. "Sounds like it didn't go over well." 

"Antigone's not thrilled." 

A screamed curse and the sound of breaking glass confirmed her analysis. 

This, of course, was not an event to be missed. Beth and Melissa fought their way to the front lines so that they could clearly see the pair faced off in front of the fireplace. 

"You don't care about defending my honor anymore!" More breaking glass. "You're so complacent, so smug, you no longer realize what a treasure I am!" 

Warrington ventured to insert a word. "But" 

"I thought that you loved me," Antigone hissed. 

"I..." 

"Don't you want us to be together?" 

"Uh" 

They had always said that Warrington would be crushed in a battle of wits, but it was almost pitiful to watch it actually happen. 

"You said once that you would kill for me!" cried Antigone dramatically. 

Warrington raised his hands in frustration. "Just tell me who!" 

Everybody backed away a step. 

"No, the time is past," Antigone hissed. "You had your chance with me, Mr. Warrington, and you have lost it." 

For a moment Warrington stood stupefied. Then his face cleared into a look of stupid cunning. "Then who are you going to go to Hogsmeade with?" he roared triumphantly. 

"Roger Davies." 

Warrington's face fell a thousand miles and crashed on the stones. Antigone watched his realization smugly, arms crossed, sharp-eyed. He shook his head a couple of times, then said, "No you're not!" in a loud but unconvincing tone. 

"Watch me," said Antigone viciously. She turned on her heel, crossed the common room in a few hard strides, and slammed the door behind her. 

Warrington stared at the door for a bare few seconds before he turned away with a growl and barged off to the boys' dormitories. 

Beth and Melissa exchanged a worried glance. "I think," said Melissa, "that it's time to venture into dangerous territory." 

"If it ever was," Beth agreed. 

They got up and, together, made their way to the boys' dorms. 

-'-'-

The boys' hallway was barren stone and smelled like men. Beth and Melissa went up to the seventh-years' room in tandem, ignoring appalled looks from a trio of second-year fellows, and knocked in syncopation. 

There came a growl in which the words "go" and "away" were interspersed with those of a less polite nature. 

"We're coming in," said Melissa loudly, through the door. 

The response was a grunt; it sounded indifferent, or at least not very threatening, so Melissa forged ahead and opened the door. 

The room looked precisely as Beth had always imagined it: arranged similar to the girls' room, with four canopy beds, but simply scattered with books, crumpled papers and articles of clothing. The wall above what had to be Aaron's bed was plastered with posters of the Ballycastle Bats, whose moving subjects taunted the Pride of Portree posters over Bruce's. The one with a twenty-foot-long snakeskin under the bed could only belong to Mervin. On the fourth and final bed they found Warrington, sitting on the edge with his hands between his knees, staring at the floor. 

Beth and Melissa went to sit on either side of him. The mattress sagged under his weight, pulling the three together like a gravitational force. Beth was struck, suddenly, by Warrington's impressive physique; he must have weighed as much as both girls together, in solid muscle. Why had Antigone, who was attracted to sheer power, given this up? 

"Antigone..." Melissa began, and hesitated. 

"She's just like that," Beth filled in, gesturing vaguely in the air. 

Melissa nodded. "Nobody's ever been good enough for her, she's so certain she's wonderful, and she wants so much no one could possibly stand up..." 

"I want her back," rumbled Warrington bleakly. 

Beth and Melissa exchanged glances behind his back. 

"She doesn't deserve you," said Melissa bluntly. "She's a stuck-up, manipulative" 

Warrington sprang to his feet. Turning, he bore down on the girls with sudden, terrifying ferocity. 

_"What do you know? She's more perfect than anyone in this school, don't call her that, and she was always too good for me!"_

He broke off, red-faced and panting. Then he turned on his heel and stormed away, slamming the door behind him. 

Beth watched him go, then faced Melissa, who still sat staring wide-eyed and pale-faced after him. 

"I think he really loves her," she said. 

Melissa shook her head sadly. "That's what Antigone doesn't deserve." 

-'-'-

Antigone made a very public show of ignoring Warrington for the rest of the week, and took to stopping by the Ravenclaw table before dinner for a quick snog with Roger Davies. Warrington, each time he saw this, seemed unable to rouse up an appetite and began skipping mealtimes entirely. 

"And his flying's suffering," Bruce reported, one evening as he and Beth hunkered in the usual table, picking listlessly at a bit of Charms work. 

"I don't like it," Beth said. "It feels wrong. It feels like everything, this year it feels as if the whole school is wearing down, and things are getting ready to fly apart." 

She glanced over toward the fireplace, where Mervin sat studying with a huge snake wrapped round his legs. 

For the second time, Gina took up residence in the Slytherin common room; this time, fully mature and at an impressive size, she made herself completely at home. It was hard to get a seat by the fireplace because Gina took up all the space. She slunk around between the chairs, sometimes slithering up for a pat on the head, sometimes lunging at a hole in the wall and coming back with a tail between her teeth. 

The second-years, who were well known as a bunch of imperious brats, absolutely adored her. 

Gina, for her own part, enjoyed the company as well. She seemed to have a special fondness for Morag. Bruce said he reckoned that the snake fancied redheads. 

"The Dark Lord is bald," Beth pointed out. 

Bruce blinked. "Really?" 

"Like a cue ball," said Beth, feeling reckless. "I guess not many people know that, huh?" 

"You might want to keep it to yourself from now on," Bruce agreed. He contemplated. "Bald. Who would've thought?" 

Still, Beth couldn't help but relate the exchange to Melissa as they were getting ready for bed. Quite unlike Beth, who had found it slightly amusing, Melissa didn't seem to think it was remotely funny. 

"Beth, you _must_ be more careful about what you say!" she insisted, with sincere concern. "Please, remember Diggory!" 

Beth scowled. "What's he got to do with anything?" 

"All year we told him, 'Be careful, you could die, be careful, you could die.' He wouldn't listen!" Melissa looked genuinely upset. "Beth, your banshee is screaming, you've got the Dark Mark, your brother tried to kill you over Christmas break, and your boyfriend got murdered this summer. Now I'm telling you be careful. You could really die." 

"Rich wasn't" Beth stopped herself, but too late. Her best friend's expression had changed. With a sigh, she finished what she had started to say. "Rich wasn't murdered. It was a ploy. He's in London and trying to contact the alumni. We gave him the Draught of the Living Death so we could get the ring off him and so he could move freely. I was going to tell you eventually _oof!_" 

Melissa had flung her arms around her and was almost shouting in her ear. "That explains _everything!_ Why you never talked about it I thought you'd gone half mad where you'd snuck off to" She hugged her fervently, and then broke away laughing triumphantly. Beth was astonished to see tears in her eyes. "Is he really all right?" 

"He's fine," said Beth. She felt an unexpected rush of relief, like the first night when she'd found out it had all gone well. A smile broke on her face. "He's fine. His apartment's a mess. You'd never believe it..." 

Melissa attacked her again. 


	22. Hogsmeade

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Hogsmeade**

On the morning of the next Hogsmeade trip, Beth got a letter at breakfast from a very familiar owl.

_Dear Beth:  
I hope you are all right.  
I want you to know that the Ministry of Magic has put spells around the  
property in case Chris comes back. Our house is safe from him.  
Because of everything that happened since this summer, I want you to get  
to know your cousin Louisa. She is in Hufflepuff in her third year and  
the daughter of my brother Bob. If something happens to me he has  
promised to take care of you.  
Love, Da_

Beth scowled down at the letter. How dare he commit to writing something like that? He hadn't said it straight up, but his implied meaning was very clear, and they both knew it. He was older than they cared to admit. And with the banshee coming around again...

She jammed the letter into her pocket, furious that he was so accepting of the truth.

Melissa turned from her oatmeal and spotted the envelope. "Who's the letter from?" she gasped, eyes alight. "Is it from you-know-who?"

She meant Richard. "It's from my dad," said Beth dully.

Melissa's face fell. "Oh." She cheered up immediately. The knowledge that Richard was alive had really gone to her head. "Are you going to be meeting any certain someones in Hogsmeade? Should I stay with Bruce ooh, wait, can I come see him too?"

"I'm not meeting anyone," Beth told her. "I'm not even going to Hogsmeade until lunch."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm going to be grading some potions for Snape." At Melissa's aghast expression, she dropped her voice and added, "And digging up everything I can about Evan's Alchemy project."

Melissa's expression turned crafty. "Good thinking. He'll be in the village picking up school supplies I heard Herne asking him about it. You're safe until noon, I think. Do you want me to stall him from coming back?"

It always amused Beth when her friends suggested shady dealings with such a straight face. "I don't think I'll need that long," she said. "If it's not easy to access, Evan will have made it impossible. I'll just meet you in the Three Broomsticks around noon, all right?"

"Don't be late!" Melissa sang, as she joined the flow of students headed for the Entrance Hall.

Beth fought through the crowd and came out in the dungeon, bleak and empty and cold from the February rain leaching into the ground all around the stone halls. She had left behind a batch of Draught of Peace Potions in Dungeon Six, graded for contents but not for execution. Lighting up a small blue flame on the counter, she put some water on to boil and started drawing up pipettes full of potion for the temperature test.

She chucked some rock salt into the water to make it boil more quickly and then sat back, waiting for it to boil, staring idly at the walls and wishing there were windows. If she ever managed to get a job, she hoped it would be in a large, clean laboratory instead of a dim, cold dungeon.

She had sent out two of the three applications, with letters of recommendation, résumés, and everything; hopefully she would be hearing from them in a month or two. She had filled out the application for the Department of Mysteries but was holding on to it, still uncertain of whether she wanted to take her life in that direction.

_It would be very good for the Society to have an insider,_ she thought often.

_But what if I forget what I see every day?_ she answered just as often.

She fiddled absently with the ring from Richard's mother, the black opal set in silver that she still wore around her neck. She remembered what Richard had given up in favor of the Society, and loved him all the more for it; but she wasn't sure if she would be able to do the same.

The hiss of angry steam told her that the water had begun to simmer. She gave it a few stirs and within moments it had risen to a full boil, steaming bubbles brushing the top edge of the cauldron. Carefully hanging the test tubes of potion from a wire-mesh apparatus, she lowered them into the boiling water and let the wire frame rest on the cauldron.

It would take a few minutes for the potion samples to heat thoroughly. _Until then,_ Beth thought, sliding off the edge of her stool, _let's see what Evan's got in storage._

Cabinets for the advanced Alchemy class lined half of the back wall of Dungeon Six. Searching in her pocket for the spare key that Snape had given her (and counting herself lucky that he had not suspected that she would misuse it), she unlocked the first cabinet and pulled it open. A gushing of purple smoke hit her in the face and she stepped back coughing. She peeked back inside: the handwritten labels on the shelf told her that "E. Charmichael" was responsible. His potion marinated on the top shelf. Below that, "V. Frobisher" was cultivating a terrarium (CAUTION: CHIZPURFLES. DO NOT OPEN). A quick scan of the other shelves told her that they were assigned in alphabetical order. Beth closed the cupboard, careful to relock it, and went to the last cabinet in the row.

The doors unlocked easily, to Beth's surprise; she had expected Evan to have hexed it up a little. She stood off to the side just in case and swung open the doors.

The cabinet was nearly empty.

Beth peeked inside, then came closer and peered into the cabinet. The shelves were dusty, except for a few round clean spaces like crop circles that showed the whereabouts of recently-removed flasks. A few jars stood on the top shelf. Beth sifted through them quickly: a bottle of bat's ears, a preserved liver, a long rack bearing a variety of snakeskins.

The shelf below it bore more of the same. Eye of newt, toe of frog ... this was elementary stuff, filler material. Apart from the snakeskins, none of it was enough to carry a potion on its own especially one powerful enough to pass Alchemy with. Beth poked through the jars with growing unrest. This was not what she had expected to find

Wait. At the very corner of the bottom shelf stood a mortar and pestle, the long, smooth grinding stone still propped within the bowl. Beth withdrew it carefully. The substance inside glittered as it hit the light. A strange, winking sand lay at the bottom, along with several larger pieces of crystal that Evan had clearly been grinding before he put away his work for the day.

Beth put the mortar and pestle on one of the laboratory tables and leaned over it. They had done very little work with minerals, but the glinting sand seemed familiar nonetheless. Snatching some tweezers from a nearby bench, she picked out one of the larger pieces. She raised it to the light and was astonished to see, through the scratched and uneven surfaces, a rainbow of light break and scatter inside, bouncing among the facets and twinkling at every odd angle.

She lifted the mortar from its place and took a good look at the end of it. It, too, was the same clear crystal, though a little cloudy and well-scarred. Beth had an unsettling idea. On a whim, she took the large shard and ran it across the desk. The hard stone parted like butter.

There was no doubt. The sand in the stone bowl was being ground from a solid diamond.

Unnerved suddenly, Beth put back the shard and the mortar and set them both back in the cabinet, being sure to match it up with the dustless ring where it had previously sat. The mortar and pestle must have both been heavily charmed, to allow the grinding of a diamond. She locked up and went back to check on her temperature test, without really paying attention to it. What on earth was Evan doing that would require him to pulverize a diamond? And why on earth would Snape let him?

She went on with her work for Snape, all the while running through the ingredients in her head and trying to remember if she had ever even heard of a potion involving precious gems. The more she found out about Evan's project, the stranger it became.

By noon she had completed her work and put it away, starving for lunch and still lacking an explanation for Evan's unusual choice of ingredient. She cleaned up the dungeon, grabbed her cloak, and headed upstairs for the long walk to Hogsmeade, anxious to share her findings with Melissa.

She now knew something more about Evan's final Alchemy project. It was valuable; and someone, whether Evan, Professor Snape, or Hogwarts school itself, was willing to invest a great deal to get it to work.

-'-'-

It was raining, to Beth's great surprise; the dungeons allowed neither a view of the sky nor the sound of pattering rain. Although there were a handful of carriages nearby, she put up her hood and began to walk down the long road to Hogsmeade. The chilly rain and breeze felt good on her skin, after long hours in the cloistered dungeons; besides, the thought of the thestrals left her a little unsettled about using the coaches.

_Don't be silly, Parson, you've been using them for years,_ she chided herself, as she approached the edges of town and began strolling down the main street. She knew that nothing had changed, and it was stupid to suddenly be wary of them now that she knew they existed, but that didn't change the creeping way her skin felt when she thought about the leathery, invisible beasts.

She was almost to the Three Broomsticks when a voice called out from amid the raindrops and stopped her in her tracks.

"What do you know. We seem destined to meet."

Beth gritted her teeth at the sound of the voice. "Riggs." She whirled around.

"Pleasure to see you too."

"What do you _want?_"

"Health, wealth and power," Riggs riffed good-humoredly. "But you knew all that. Things going well? Keeping out of our master's eye?"

Beth bit her tongue. It wouldn't help to quarrel it was exactly what he wanted.

"Say," said Riggs, giving her the once-over, "I don't suppose you know where Nagini has got to?"

"Want to know where _you_ should get to?" All right, to be honest, _she_ wanted to quarrel too.

Riggs laughed heartily. "Do I detect a temper? You know, your brother Chris is the same way. Impulsive. Still a bit unbalanced, but he's coming round..."

Beth was speechless. Riggs went on mercilessly.

"So sorry your other brother had to be left behind. That was your brother, wasn't it? Not enough room in the boats, you know... I'm afraid ten was all we could manage at the moment... Ah, well. We'll finish the job soon enough."

"Somebody's going to kill you someday," said Beth, meaning it. The wave of hate that ran through her was frighteningly strong.

"But not you," Riggs said smugly. "And not today. Anyway, I've got just _loads_ to do business to attend to dreadfully large place, Hogsmeade, isn't it? I don't suppose I'll bump into you again. That's a shame, you know." He fixed Beth with a meaningful look. "We all ought to be working together."

"You're right," said Beth evenly, "we should be. Too bad you're on the wrong side."

Riggs took two swift strides forward until they were nose to nose. "You will see," he said fiercely, "which side is wrong when it cowers in subservience!"

"I can't wait to watch you crawl," Beth snarled.

A fierce and deep ugliness twisted Riggs' face. For a moment, Beth's gut twisted in real fear. Then Riggs relaxed; his features changed, and he stood back calmly.

"You will see," he said again. Once again he was in possession of himself, cool and confident that he had chosen the correct master. "Tell Melissa thanks for the wands."

Realization struck. "You gave them to the escapees!"

"See you at the next meeting," Riggs smiled.

He vanished into the Three Broomsticks.

Beth darted after him, but she couldn't find him amid the bustle of butterbeers and chatting students.

She heaved a sigh and put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. He'd probably Disapparated, if not snuck straight out the back. Well, here she was ... she tried to put him from her mind as she ran her eyes across the crowded tavern, seeking out her friends.

It was Bruce she finally spotted, at a table in the corner. He was sitting with Melissa, his girlfriend Kiesha, and Cho Chang.

Beth came up and slid into the seat by Melissa. No one greeted her; the table seemed focused on Cho, who had her head down on the table. The Ravenclaw groaned and raised her head, only to drop it back into her cupped hands miserably.

Kiesha spoke up. "You really screwed that up."

"I know _perfectly well_ that I screwed it up," said Cho, face in her hands.

Kiesha put her arm around Cho's shoulders. "If it's any comfort, he really screwed it up too," she said practically. "Not even holding your hand. Honestly. He should have just leaned over and snogged you one."

Beth glanced over at Melissa for an explanation, but her friend only met her glance and mouthed a silent _Later_.

"He's never going to want to snog me one," said Cho, her voice muffled between her fingers. "He probably thinks I'm c-crazy."

"Darling," said Kiesha, pulling away and looking Cho straight in the face, "_I_ think you're crazy. Doesn't mean you're not a lovely girl."

"But I don't want to date _you,_" said Cho. The side of her mouth twitched upward nonetheless.

"Likewise," Kiesha agreed, "I have my own charming gent in green. Point is, it's not too late. And Potter's half crazy himself. You're a perfect pair."

Cho's face changed again; she seemed to lose her strength. She gazed back at Kiesha, with eyes that were hollower and a marginal, sad smile.

"That's just what you said about Cedric."

The table grew very silent.

"Excuse me," Cho whispered. She got up and left the Three Broomsticks at a very measured, careful pace.

Even Kiesha dared not follow her.

-'-'-

Beth didn't see Cho at all during the following week since the Guild and the Society had split, she rarely saw the Ravenclaws at all but Bruce reported that she had gotten hold of herself again and was doing all right.

"Considering," he added, with a meaningful glance at Beth.

Beth and Melissa exchanged a meaningful glance themselves and decided wordlessly that it was time to let Bruce in on the secret about Richard. Their friend gaped in relief and swore himself to secrecy, in between astonished gasping: "I can't believe that you all this time I thought I just can't believe..."

Beth thought that she could trust them both, but she also knew that having two confidantes was pushing her luck a little. She reminded them both of the consequences of being found out, and especially stressed that neither the Guild nor the Society should be included yet.

"And especially," she added, thinking of the diamond dust she had found in the Alchemy cabinets, "don't tell Evan."

As her friends listened, she told them about the strange ingredient hidden among Evan's things. Melissa, who had neither the potions experience nor the awe of expensive things that Beth had, was less concerned. Bruce agreed with Beth.

"Mel, I'm begging you," he said, leaning in seriously toward Melissa. "Just once before I die. _Please_ let me beat an answer out of him. I'll give you anything you want."

For a moment Melissa looked like she was considering this; then she shook her head abruptly, with a sigh. "I can't let you do that, Bruce. He's done nothing wrong. This year," she amended, as Beth and Bruce spoke up at once. "Besides, I'm sure Dumbledore knows what all of the Alchemy projects are for. He would step in if anything were awry."

"He didn't step in about Diggory's potion," Beth noted grimly. "And that killed him."

"Diggory's Transcongus Brew was extracurricular," Melissa argued. "This is the focal point of Evan's entire school year. He's not going to be able to get away with anything. We have to have a little faith in the professors and in Dumbledore."

But after all that had happened in the past few years, Beth had very little faith left.

-'-'-

"I liked the first. You could tell right then, it was going to be good."

"But the fourteenth was the funniest."

"Yeah but did you see the Beater scream and fall backwards off his broom?"

"Are you kidding, I got a nosebleed I laughed so hard..."

It was the Monday after the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game, and the Slytherins had never been more delighted with a Hufflepuff victory.

"Twenty-two minutes, I wish it had been an hour..."

Not only had the Gryffindor Keeper turned in the worst performance of his career, but the Beaters who had replaced the Weasley twins were hilariously inept. Even some of the other houses had taken up the "Weasley is Our King" song in between the riotous bouts of laughter, that is.

Better yet, the scores were nearly tied; as Gryffindor had ultimately edged within ten points of winning, the Hufflepuff lead was so insignificant that neither team had moved into a place that would threaten the Slytherin standings.

"This weekend was almost perfect," Aaron sighed. "If only we didn't have to go back to class."

Mervin snorted. "I'm not going to risk skiving off Umbridge. She's been on the warpath all term. She'll be sacking someone before long."

"It'll be Hagrid," said Aaron confidently.

"Are you kidding?" said Mervin, pitch rising in disbelief. "She's had it out for Trelawney for months now."

"Umbridge won't sack a witch before a half-breed," Aaron argued. "Bet you five Sickles."

Mervin eyed him contemptuously. "She'll sack a fraud before an incompetent. Eight Sickles."

"Hagrid's friends with Potter," Aaron retorted, as if he were laying out a winning hand of poker. "Ten Sickles. Shake."

They shook hands solemnly.

A hooting and fluttering heralded the mail. A couple dozen owls swooped in through the high windows, depositing packages and newspapers; then, with barely a warning, almost a hundred owls burst in, circled in a synchronized feathery mass, and made for the Gryffindor table.

One by one, they began to shower letters onto Harry Potter.

"Would have guessed," muttered Mervin.

"What on _earth_ has he done now?" Melissa wondered aloud, craning her neck to see across the Great Hall.

Beth caught the Daily Prophet out of the air before it even hit her plate and the group of them tore it apart to see if there had been anything provocative. Apart from a snide comment about some Free-the-House-Elves protestors being "as barmy as Potter," nothing looked like it would invite dozens of items of fan mail or even hate mail.

Just at the bell, they saw Professor Umbridge stalking toward the Gryffindor table, smiling in her worst way, but they were gone too soon to see what, if anything, occurred.

"It just makes me really nervous," Beth told Melissa on the way to Charms. "Every time something happens to Potter, it turns out to affect the whole school."

Professor Flitwick seemed oddly distracted during class, to the point where he mispronounced the incantation he was teaching and forgot Mervin's name, and finally he let them spend the rest of the period as a study hall and disappeared behind the piles of books on his desk. They whispered quietly over their N.E.W.T.s primers, dying of curiosity. When the bell finally rang, they snatched up their books and dashed out the door only to bunch up in a stunned crowd as Mervin and Bruce stopped dead, right outside of the door.

The wall opposite the classroom bore a large, official-looking document.

**-' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '' ' ' '-BY ORDER OF-' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '-  
****-' ' ' ' ' ' ' '-The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts-' ' ' ' ' ' ' '-**  
Any student found to be in possession of the magazine _The  
Quibbler_ will be expelled.

_The above is in accordance with  
Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven._

Signed:  
_Dolores Jane Umbridge_  
HIGH INQUISITOR

"Well, at least we know what all the fuss was about," said Bruce.

"There's something really important in that magazine," said Melissa, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully.

Mervin reached out and prodded the Minister's signature. "_Unreal,_" he breathed, staring at his fingertips. "The bloody _ink's_ still wet."

Melissa glanced from side to side, and then lowered her voice. "It may be tricky," she said, almost inaudibly, "and I don't know what all this is about, but we have to get hold of a copy."

That, however, proved easier said than done. The four of them trawled the hallways before class, but although everybody seemed to be whispering together, there wasn't a magazine in sight. When Beth and Mervin entered Arithmancy, they passed Professors Vector and Sinistra also whispering and settled down near a group of Ravenclaws who were suspiciously interested in a page in their textbook. Beth tried to catch a glimpse but it looked no different than her own. She wished for a moment that the Society was still working with the Guild; she was sure that some of the Ravenclaws would know what was going on.

"Come now, ye lot," said Professor Vector, taking the helm of the Arithmancy class with a line of worry on her brow. "Put all that away until after class. That's it..."

Beth couldn't help noticing that she had said the words "all that" as if she knew exactly what was distracting her students.

By dinner time, none of them had had any luck at finding the article in any form, although the entire school seemed to have access to it; everywhere they turned, students grouped around discarded scraps of parchment or loose pages of the Daily Prophet. But none of them yielded to the Society the Quibbler article that they were certain lay beneath the innocent words.

"Get out there," hissed Melissa, as dessert faded away, "and don't come back to the common room until you've got the Quibbler in your hands."

"What if we have to" Mervin began.

"Use the loos in the hallways."

Mervin looked disappointed at having been so easily beaten down.

They scattered at the Entrance Hall, each of them taking a different path in search of the remarkable article. Beth, after some hesitation, strolled past the library and up toward the Ravenclaw tower. They hadn't all been as antagonistic as Deirdre, she figured; maybe someone would be willing to give their old partners a hand.

She turned the corner and bumped directly into a first-year bearing what looked like the inventory of an entire comic-book store in her arms.

The girl staggered back and sat down hard on the stone floor. A few comic books drifted from her teetering stack.

It was Cova Lynn. Beth bent down and collected the loose comics while the tiny girl got to her feet, still clutching her collection.

"Sorry about that."

"It's all right," said Cova Lynn, perky as ever. "Hello, Beth. Have a Martin Miggs comic?"

Beth eyed her suspiciously. "Why would I want one?"

"Special insert section," said Cova Lynn, without batting an eye. "It's quite popular. It recently appeared in a national tabloid."

Beth's jaw dropped. "You're hustling the Quibbler article?" she hissed, bending down for a closer look at the comics in the girl's arms.

Cova Lynn was all offended dignity. "That would be illegal!" She huffed for a while, then went on calmly, "Charmed for your eyes only."

Beth considered. "I'll take one."

"That will be nine Sickles, please."

"_Nine Sickles,_ are you serious?" At Cova Lynn's warning glare, Beth bit her lip. Sighing, she rummaged in her knapsack and came up with some change. "This had better be one heck of a comic."

"The best," said Cova Lynn seriously. "Martin goes parasailing. He's quite mad."

"He's not the only one around here," said Beth. She took her comic book and went back to the common room.

Melissa had also procured a copy, disguised as the sports section of last Thursday's Daily Prophet, and they grouped together on one of the long leather sofas, hunched over their respective prizes. As soon as Beth got through the first pages (in which Martin Miggs arranged his parasailing trip, a strangely fascinating exercise in Muggle Studies), she came to the forbidden article and the glaring headline:

**_HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:  
THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED  
AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN_**

Of course. Beth hadn't expected this, necessarily, but it explained Umbridge's reaction perfectly. She dove into the article.

It gave her a chill to read about that first Death Eater meeting, the strange magic of the graveyard, the masked strangers, the torture and murder. She remembered the prickling mask around her face and the cool grass at her ankles. The hurt ... she had been betrayed by her family and by Rothbard, the former Society president. Above all, she remembered the fear. She might have been killed, tortured, kidnapped ... she had been certain that she would be forced to watch Harry Potter die.

She shuddered without knowing it.

Melissa finished the article and glanced up at her. "Well? Is it accurate?"

"As far as I know." Beth scanned it over again. "At least up to this point. We were sort of running away after that."

"So you didn't see the Fraternis effect?"

"The what now?"

"Priori Incantatum. The big golden globe." Melissa gestured excitedly to her magazine, which showed to Beth's eyes a half-page photograph of the Ballycastle Bats scoring against Montrose. "I mean, I've seen it, we do simulations at the workshop to see how certain pairs match up, but we've never gotten anything quite like this. Actually," she added, looking back at the article, "we've never gotten anything _remotely_ like this."

"We saw the big golden globe," Beth confirmed. "Nothing afterward. And we didn't see anything before we were summoned, either here," she added, pointing to her article.

Melissa peered at it. "The part where Martin Miggs jumps off the cliff?"

"The part where the Death Eaters start showing up." Working with disguised materials was starting to be annoying.

"Poor Draco," Melissa sighed unexpectedly. "The fifth-years really got it bad, didn't they?"

Beth glanced again through the list of Death Eaters. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott. It was over a third of their class. They could have formed a self-contained Children of Death Eaters Support Group.

"Nott," said Beth suddenly.

"Did too," said Melissa, looking slightly offended.

"No, _Nott,_ the Secretary! Potter got his name somehow. I wonder is that going to be good for the Society, do you think, or bad?"

"I don't know," said Melissa slowly. "If anyone takes this seriously then Nott might find it harder to get things done. On the other hand, if he's caught..."

"Won't the lockjaw curse kick in if he tries to talk about us?"

Melissa frowned. "I don't know if it works after the first year. But there are a dozen ways to get information, even if he refuses to talk; there are truth meters, secrecy sensors, the Recurrus charm, there's even Veritasalve that forces you to write the truth. Of course," she added thoughtfully, "we also have that hand-cramp curse..."

"Either way," said Beth, "it's going to be bad if Nott gets pulled in."

"Oh, I think we're all right for now," said Melissa. "People still think Potter's raving mad. They're not going to arrest Mr. Malfoy or anybody just because he accuses them."

But Beth thought that a mere accusation was enough to get the ball rolling in a direction she didn't want anyone to go.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
**Author's Notes:** First, I heart Lyta Padfoot and her regular commenting. :) She's pro-Slytherin and prolific, so everybody go and read her stuff. Mirria is a lovely funny commenter too, but couldn't find her profile to recommend.  
netrat: I also heart nitpicks. I ... suppose that it was just a _given _that Bruce wouldn't try out for the Harpies. _(shifty eyes)_ I also suspect that he would only use his cousin's contacts as a last resort.  
LKH511: Way back in chapter 14 you asked why Oren was studying alone, and Evan was playing chess with Mervin, instead of the other way around. It would definitely work both ways, but in this case it's Oren's fascination with learning practical-application oriented magic, and Evan's deep love of showing off at chess.  
Thanks everyone for reading...we're on the downhill stretch now, I promise.


	23. Dangerous Tidings

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Dangerous Tidings**

The Quibbler article remained illegal; so, of course, not a student in the school missed reading it. By the end of the day even the non-Society Slytherins had gotten hold of it. Beth wasn't surprised at how the article had propagated through the school what astonished her was that Umbridge had yet to catch anyone with it.

"I'm impressed," Melissa agreed, when she mentioned this. "I would've thought she'd have picked up loads of Hufflepuffs by now."

Ironically, the mood around school had taken on a strangely businesslike timbre. With the teachers forbidden from lecturing outside of their subjects, and everyone prevented from talking about the Quibbler, the easiest thing to do was focus on schoolwork. There was also an undercurrent of caution that Hogwarts had never seen. Who knew what would be the next unforgivable sin? No, the best course was to keep your head down. It may not have been a good way to run a school, but it sure helped with N.E.W.T.s preparations.

"This sounds crazy," said Bruce, around their usual spot in the common room that Tuesday afternoon, "but I think I might actually get a N.E.W.T. or two."

"After all those practices, you had better," said Melissa primly. She addressed the rest of them. "Has anyone had any luck finding more information on the contraction theory in Shrinking Spells?"

Grunts and shaking of heads.

"You know Professor Flitwick said they were certain to appear!" Melissa chided them.

"I found a footnote reference," Mervin said gloomily. "_Metamagical Phenomena_, by Ptolemy somebody. It's not in the library. Pince spent an hour looking for it. She was bloody annoyed," he added, perking up a little at the memory.

Beth yawned and stretched her hands over her head. "I wonder if the Guild has a copy? Their tower's stacked with books."

She was met with dubious glances.

"I suppose they might," said Melissa coldly. "But I have no intention of asking them."

"We don't have to," said Beth. In truth, she was getting restless from sitting and wanted an excuse to take a walk. "Look, I'll just pop up to the Ravenclaw tower and see if they've got it in stock."

Melissa bit her lip. "All right ... but if they catch you, it wasn't my idea."

"It wasn't your idea anyway."

"Of course not. I don't get such silly ideas."

"You'll be sorry when I come back and don't let you read it," Beth grinned, getting up from the table.

"You'll be sorry when you don't come back," said Melissa, a teasing grin lurking in her eyes nonetheless.

Beth waved aside her comment and left for the Entrance Hall.

It was that oft-wasted hour between classes and dinner; the halls were nearly empty. Beth loitered in the Entrance Hall until the coast was clear. Then she tapped the enchanted floor, stepped to the center, and swept upward toward the tower of the Guild.

She popped through the floor easily, but hesitated before going further into the room.

Beth had expected the Ravenclaw tower to be abandoned; or in the worst case, empty except for Deirdre, in her permanent position behind the broad wooden desk. The last thing she expected to see was Evan Wilkes lounging in a corner with a fat book across his lap, and Cova Lynn on the other side of the room reading quietly to herself.

Evan was absorbed in his reading; his face held a frighteningly intense concentration. He was clearly drinking in every word. Wanting to see what happened, Beth crossed the room carefully to where Cova Lynn sat, now watching her with her usual perky, elfin smile.

Beth slid into the table beside the little girl, keeping her voice low.

"What's he doing here?"

"The same thing you're doing here, I imagine," said Cova Lynn brightly.

"How long's he been there?"

Cova Lynn shrugged. "I don't know, I only came in just now. He says he's doing schoolwork."

"Really." Beth had rarely seen Evan actually _do_ schoolwork; it just seemed to _become done_ when necessary. "Can you see what he's reading?"

Cova Lynn shook her head.

Just then, Evan looked up from his book. His cool dark eyes fixed on Beth first, then skipped dismissively over Cova Lynn's curious little face. He closed the book with a snap. Instantly, it vanished from his hands. The books on the far shelf nudged each other and shifted in place, but Beth wasn't quick enough to tell where among them the book had reappeared.

Evan stood and picked up the knapsack that he always seemed to carry these days. Without a word he strode across the room, flicked his wand, and sank into the quicksand floor.

Instantly, Beth leapt for the shelf where Evan's book had shelved itself. "It's got to be here somewhere," she muttered, running her hands over the dozens of volumes stacked side-by-side. "I think it was ... a red one..."

"May I help?" said Cova Lynn curiously. She had come up beside Beth, her perky little face turned upward. Beth glanced down (noting with embarrassment how much she loomed over the tiny girl) and shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Cova Lynn took out her wand and laid it flat on her palm.

"Point Me."

The wand in her palm swung like the needle of a compass and finally fixed on a large volume bound in red leather. Cova Lynn plucked it from the shelf and handed it to Beth, who eagerly flipped to the title page.

It read:

Thicker than Water:  
The Mysteries and Uses of Wizards' Blood  
(A Practical Guide)

Beth's jaw dropped. Despite how well she knew Evan, she hadn't expected something so blatantly malevolent.

Cova Lynn leaned over her shoulder, brightly interested. "Do you think he's gong to kill someone?"

Beth turned to Cova Lynn incredulously. "Why do you people even have this kind of book anyway?" she demanded.

Cova Lynn shrugged. "It is awfully hard to get something from the Restricted Section, you know."

"And they call us the evil house," said Beth, shaking her head.

"Yes," said Cova Lynn thoughtfully. "Odd, isn't it?"

Beth closed the book and tucked it back into its place on the shelf. "Listen, Cova," she said, "I think it would be best if we didn't tell anybody that we saw Evan reading a book about blood."

"Why?" said Cova Lynn, eyes wide and curious.

"They'll think he's up to something. I mean, he is, he's always up to something, but ... I think it would be a distraction ... somebody's bound to make a mountain out of a molehill."

"Like Deirdre," said Cova Lynn.

The girl was smarter than she looked. "Well, yes," said Beth. "Don't let Deirdre know. I'll tell the Society and if there's something wrong, we'll take care of it. Deirdre would just freak out."

"She enjoys it," said Cova Lynn.

"But it's not so fun for the rest of us," Beth said. "Will you keep quiet?"

Cova Lynn considered. "Yes," she decided, with a kind of childlike solemnity. "I would never want anyone tattling on _me_."

"All right." For an unsettling moment, Beth wondered what a fresh-faced first-year was doing that she wouldn't want tattled on. She decided it was none of her business and turned to go, anxious to tell Melissa what she had seen.

Just before stepping onto the enchanted floor, she paused and turned around.

"Do you guys have a copy of _Metamagical Phenomena_, by ... er ... Ptolemy somebody?"

"Try the Advanced Charms section," said Cova Lynn, and pointed her in the right direction.

-'-'-

Beth returned to the common room, book in hand.

"Did you get it?" said Melissa, without looking up from her own work.

"Oh, I got it," said Beth, tossing it onto the table. "Wait 'til you hear what else I got."

She described Evan's actions in the Ravenclaw tower and the ominous book he had been absorbed in.

"What if the Guild had caught him?" was Melissa's first reaction.

"Cova Lynn was in there," Beth told her, "and she didn't seem to mind."

"Yes, but that little thing's a bit odd herself," Mervin pointed out.

"I'm really worried now," Beth said aloud, settling back into her chair. "I have a very bad feeling about that project. Doing one gives you practically unlimited access to the ingredients stores. We already know there's a diamond in there, which is really weird. He could be putting in unicorn blood and hemlock for all we know. Evan and unstable elements that's just not a combination I want to think about." She tapped her cheek distractedly. "He's always up to something. I mean, he spent all last year trying to do in Professor Moody."

"That wasn't Professor Moody," Bruce reminded her, "just some chap with Polyjuice potion."

"And that's the only thing that saved him," Beth countered. "Evan thought he'd got the wrong room. You'd have to be crazy to break into Mad-Eye Moody's bedroom, I'll bet whoever-he-was just hexed up the door and didn't worry if his potion wore off halfway through the night."

Melissa's chin rested in her hands; her eyes were vague with thought. At last she raised herself up and looked from one to the other. "This is going to sound a little bizarre," said Melissa, "but listen, all right? Every year we think Evan's up to something evil, and every year it turns out he's actually not."

Bruce stared at her. "Did you miss the part about _killing Professor Moody?_"

"Well that aside," said Melissa, "he's really only ever done good by us. The Society, I mean. And you told me yourself, he doesn't exactly seem to be enjoying those Death Eater meetings. I think he's just as ... as confused as you are. I think that until we find out for sure what he's up to, we ought to trust Evan."

Beth chewed her lower lip. Of all the students in the school, she had come to think of Evan as sort of her counterpart. He had been present for the most frightening event of her life.

"I want to," she said slowly, "but I'm afraid that someday we're going to be right."

-'-'-

As if every ominous event of the year was linked in her mind, seeing Evan's suspicious activities made Beth think of the banshee. She said little during dinner, content to half-listen to the conversation around her. It was only over dessert that she remembered that she was not the only one in the school to bear this particular burden.

"I never did meet her," she said aloud, gazing at the next table over.

Melissa glanced up from her apple pie, eyebrows furrowed. "Who's 'her'?"

"My cousin. The Parsimmer. Dad thought I ought to meet her sometime, since she's here at Hogwarts."

"Oh." Melissa, too, glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, but found no long-lost relative of her own. "Well, no time like the present, they say."

"I tried when she was a first-year," Beth remembered, "but Diggory chased me away. I think she was afraid of me."

"I'm afraid of you," said Bruce, across the table. "Both of you, actually."

Melissa responded with a huff. "She'll have matured since then," she told Beth. "You really ought to try again. It can't hurt. Besides, maybe she knows something you don't maybe her great-uncle is hanging on to life by a thread, or something. That would be a relief."

It sounded unlikely to Beth, but she agreed that there was no point in putting it off. When her classmates got up and headed down to the common room for some well-deserved time off, she hung around in the Entrance Hall until she saw the blonde, round-faced Louisa Parsimmer emerge with a cluster of friends.

Trying very hard to look friendly, she approached the group within a few feet. "Louisa?"

The girl stopped walking and turned around, her friends stopping a few feet behind her. Her face fell at the sight of Beth, but before she could say anything, Beth stuck out her hand.

"My name is Beth Parson. I don't know if your father ever mentioned me or not, but we're cousins."

Louisa looked skeptical but shook her hand anyway. "No, he didn't," she said slowly, "and I think he would have said something..."

"I can prove it," said Beth. "Didn't you hear the banshee last night?"

Louisa's rosy face grew pronouncedly pale. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I did ... I was in bed, and everyone thought I was bit by a bedbug or something, the way I jumped over to the window..." She looked Beth over carefully. "Then it was you I saw in the hallway my first year."

Beth nodded.

"That was when Great-Grandmum got eaten by a crocodile," the girl added sadly.

Beth struggled to keep herself from laughing. "I heard about that."

"You weren't at the funeral," Louisa remembered, tugging one of her braids absently. "She was your great-grandmother too."

"I guess so." Beth hadn't thought of that. "I never met any of my family. I don't even know your father." She felt a pang, suddenly. All those years she had been alone with her father, when there were uncles and aunts and cousins out there, who could have been with them ... she banished the uncomfortable thought. She knew why it had been that way. "My father wanted me to get to know you. In case."

"In case of the banshee." Louisa's round face was serious.

"Right."

Their eyes met, and showed a kindred fear.

"All right," said Louisa, glancing over her shoulder at her classmates. "Let's go for a walk."

-'-'-

The cold February breeze nipped their hands and faces until their cheeks shone the same shade of pink. Up close, Beth could pick out hallmarks of a family resemblance: the shade of hair, the slightly protruding chin (muted by her mother's side of the family, to Louisa's good fortune). They made small talk along the path to the lake: House, year, favorite classes, hometown, and the like. However, it wasn't long before Louisa got to the topic.

"I always think it's going to be my little sister," said Louisa. "She's in first year. Or my mother ... she's sickly sometimes," she explained without elaboration. "Of course there are the healers and the house elves and the experts, but I always do wonder..." Beth remembered that in addition to being a proper pureblood family, the Parsimmers were also rich.

"My father's getting old," said Beth, feeling strange to be speaking so openly to a near stranger. "Very old, actually. He could be my grandfather. And my brothers are ..."

"Escaped from Azkaban," Louisa said suddenly. "I heard about that."

Beth had been going to say something like, "in constant danger." Instead she nodded. "One of them. The other's still in there, with my mother. I can't believe they've lasted this long."

"I even thought it might be me," said Louisa. She gazed out at the rippling surface of the lake. "But I think we're safe here at Hogwarts. You and I ... and it can't be more than a few months away, can it? She came back in the middle of November. It can't be too long now."

But whether that was a comfort, Beth couldn't be sure.

The cousins made a full circuit around the lake; their conversation ranged far and wide but always came back to the shared fear, the family curse. Though it brought to the fore of her mind that ever-festering worry, Beth was glad to be able to talk freely; it was incredible to know that someone else existed who knew what she was going through.

By the time they returned to the Entrance Hall, it was well past dark; curfew would fall within half an hour. Beth shook Louisa's hand, grateful that they had finally met. It occurred to Beth, as she started toward the dungeons, that it was only the second time in her Hogwarts career that she had made friends with someone from Hufflepuff house. The first, Cedric Diggory, had also been living under the Damocles' sword of a deadly curse, though his was self-inflicted. Beth hoped that this relationship would not end as the last one had. Of course, Beth thought, the curse of the banshee wasn't death, it was foreknowledge ... and in some ways that was worse...

Louisa was only halfway across the Entrance Hall when Beth let out a yelp of pain.

The burning pain on her forearm was unmistakable. Louisa turned around, concerned at the noise, but Beth kept her composure enough to say, "Uh stubbed my toe. See you around, all right?"

"All right..." said Louisa dubiously.

Evan Wilkes tore up the staircase from the dungeons, still tugging on his winter cloak. He brushed past Louisa and skidded up to Beth. "Ready?" he said breathlessly.

"Have a good night," Beth called to Louisa, trying hard to sound casual, before she and Evan dashed out of the Entrance Hall and onto the dark grounds.

-'-'-

They appeared in the snowy graveyard minutes later, fingers red from the cold, white masks already in place. It was such an _early_ meeting, Beth thought, as they started toward the Riddle grave. All the rest had taken place at midnight. What could be so urgent that it warranted a more dangerous meeting time?

The Dark Lord was already there, a tall, stark figure against the snowy graveyard and cloudy nighttime sky. There was something large and dark huddled in the snow at his feet. The ring seemed larger than before: the twelve escaped prisoners had returned to their places. Danger crackled like static around them. Beth and Evan hurried to take their places in the growing circle. This was not a night to be tardy.

The creature at his feet was sobbing; a man, but a desperate one, reaching for the hem of the Dark Lord's robes and gasping out apologies. The Dark Lord shook him off like a dog. He addressed the circle with the same quiet, dangerously authoritative voice which he always used although Beth sensed the fury in his tone and grew tense with fear.

"We are betrayed."

His words sent a shudder through the Death Eaters. The man at his feet sputtered, "No no!" ineffectively. The Dark Lord ignored him.

"Avery has wasted months of our time..." said the Dark Lord, disdain in his tone. "Not intentionally ... but not excusably. The fool knows less of the Department of Mysteries than he claimed."

Beth stared at the groveling figure, thunderstruck. That was all he had done? Some kind of misinformation, some kind of false intelligence? And for that, humiliation before a full assembly here in the snow?

"Listen now," hissed the Dark Lord, and every white-rimmed eye turned to him. "I will not be insulted with lies or misled by weak guesses. Avery has done less than his best. _I will accept nothing but your best_."

His unspoken threat hung in the cold air.

"Now Avery will be punished ... by those he has deceived."

He raised one slender white hand and pointed around the circle: once, twice, thrice. The three silently chosen ones raised their wands. Avery began to whimper again, kneeling helpless and shameless in a mess of disheveled snow.

One of the chosen ones was just three persons to the right of Beth. She avoided looking at him and shuddered to think how close she had been.

The three spoke together.

"_Crucio_."

There was a moment, a shining quiet moment, when Beth could hear the word being spoken beside her: clear as day, heart-stoppingly familiar.

She had never heard it say that word, but she knew the voice. She knew it because she had heard it nearly every day for the past seven years ... because it had lectured her and scolded her ... because it had given her orders, asked her questions, and taught her the most interesting subject at school ... and now this achingly familiar voice murmured one soft word and was covered in the sounds of Avery's screams.

Beth had seen the Cruciatus Curse performed before. _And cast it myself,_ she reminded herself bitterly. She closed her eyes as if it would cut out the sounds of pain, forced herself not to wince. She ignored the spell by thinking of the caster. _How could he do this? How could he be here?_ And then the terrifying question: _Has Professor Snape recognized me, too?_

The screams lasted far too long, at last dying off in the cold air. Avery lay sniveling on the ground just as he had at that first meeting, Beth remembered. Had he not yet learned how to keep out of his master's eye?

"Rookwood has corrected Avery's ... fallacy," said Lord Voldemort calmly, ignoring the cringing man at his feet. "He will be rewarded for his loyalty ... and his long patience."

One of the figures made an unsteady half-bow of obeisance toward the Dark Lord.

"That puppet of Dumbledore's is scheduled for release from Azkaban in two weeks. I wish to discuss how to ... handle him."

Another two Death Eaters made small bows. The Dark Lord gestured to them. The three vanished with wisps of dark smoke.

At the disappearance of the Dark Lord, the circle broke apart, with an air of relief; those remaining had been spared the wrath of their master for one more night. Beth turned quickly to find a clear place to Disapparate. She didn't want to risk a face-to-face meeting with Professor Snape.

A firm hand fell on her shoulder. Beth froze.

"Hello there."

Even in a whisper, Riggs's smug tone came through clearly.

"Go away," said Beth, not moving.

Riggs chuckled. "Still don't know where Nagini is?"

Beth was silent.

Riggs raised a gloved hand. There was a folded piece of parchment between his fingers.

"Give this to Mervin."

His tone was quiet, authoritative, undeniable. Beth took the parchment.

"Good girl," Riggs whispered, patting her on the back. Without another word, he turned away and disappeared among the other black figures dispersing across the graveyard.

Evan came up to her, his posture indicating impatience. Beth put the parchment in her pocket and followed him to an empty part of the graveyard. They linked hands; the cold February wind swirled around them and they landed softly in the snow outside of the gates to Hogwarts.

There were no footprints on the path to the castle; either they had gotten back before Snape, or the Potions Master knew another way into and out of the castle. Silently, they ran up the stone steps, through the Entrance Hall, and down into the dungeons, trailing snow behind them.

"They'll still be awake," Evan murmured, before they entered the common room.

"Tell them we were doing Potions," Beth murmured back. "_Rackharrow_." The stones slid apart; they came into the warm and chatty common room, removing their wet cloaks, utterly isolated from the comfortable atmosphere around them.

They hovered together by the door for a moment. Beth wanted to speak about what they had seen; but just as urgently, she wanted to keep quiet and pretend it had never happened.

Evan, at last, broke the silence.

"You heard him."

So he, too, had perceived the voice of the Potions Master. "I heard him," Beth said, her words as bitter as a curse. Then she slammed her fist onto the back of a chair, hard enough to hurt her fingers. "He knows about us, doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't doubt it," said Evan. "He probably watched them Mark us."

Beth rubbed her fist and stared at the floor. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so angry or felt so betrayed. Privately, Snape had always been her favorite professor. She had thought they got along fairly well. She had even thought he may have respected her ... and all that time he had been watching, keeping their shared secret, but ever watching. And what were they to do, now that they knew?

"We can't tell anyone," Beth said.

"No," said Evan. Neither would look directly at the other. "He would know we did the telling. It would be death."

"It would," Beth echoed. Some would have taken the risk of death to save all of Hogwarts School; but Beth knew that she would never willingly make that choice. Angry with the situation, angry with herself, she finally spat out what had disturbed her the most.

"I can't believe he did it."

Professor Snape was many things, but Beth had never imagined him to be handy with the Cruciatus Curse. Evan glanced up at her. His dark eyes held an unusual pain.

"You wouldn't have said no."

Beth turned slowly to look at him. He was right. But... "Evan," she said, meeting his eye, "what are you working on for Alchemy?"

Evan's expression became fixed. "I'll tell you when I'm done." Then he slung his wet cloak over his arm and took off down the corridor to his bedroom, collected as ever.

Beth watched him go. She made no move to follow. The events of the night had tempered her curiosity; she understood, now, how there could be things that she never wanted to know.

-'-'-

That night, Beth sat on the edge of her bed thinking, long after the lights had gone out.

She had almost forgotten, insulated in the security of the school, how sudden and insistent the call of the Dark Lord could be and how deadly the results. She was lucky so far to go unnoticed. Melissa was right: Beth was in more danger than she would admit. But so was everyone else she loved, from her friends and family to Richard and the entire Society. Someday soon that danger would ripen into true peril; and then what?

Her heart lurched in realization. Her brother Chris must have been at the meeting. _More luck,_ she thought bitterly. He must not have known her behind the mask.

She wished that it had been Lycaeon to escape instead.

No, that wasn't completely true. She missed him more than she would ever admit, and it killed her inside to think of him wasted and tormented within the stony walls of Azkaban. But what if he had gone with the rest of the Death Eaters? Lycaeon would have been irreparably bound to the Dark Lord, forever in debt. Now he was in the constant thrall of the dementors ... but for now, he was safe from the Dark Lord's reach. Maybe someday...

Beth stopped herself before she could think anything too hopeful.

She sighed and ran a hand over her eyes in the dark. It only struck her at times like this, in the quiet dark near midnight, when all the year's woes came down on her shoulders at once and left her sleepless and aching. There was too much to deal with. A few years ago she would have been in pieces. Now, she thought, reaching up at last to pull back the canopy of her bed, all this worry was just another part of her daily life. Would it ever

The silence was pierced with a long, shrill scream.

Neither Melissa nor Antigone stirred. Beth gripped the curtain until her hand felt numb. _And that's the worst of all,_ she thought, barely able to think over the banshee's wails. _I know that it's going to end badly._

She climbed into bed, her jaw set, and closed her eyes against the banshee's lullaby.

-'-'-

"Good lord, Beth, you look _horrible_."

"Wow. Love you too, Mel."

"I just mean goodness sakes, did you get any sleep at all?"

"Sure." Beth spat toothpaste into the sink and stuck her toothbrush back into her mouth, speaking around the bristles. "Plenty."

"You are the world's worst liar," Melissa sighed. She scrubbed her washcloth over her face then tensed suddenly and cast a fearful look at Beth. "You had another meeting, didn't you?"

"We were back before ten." It annoyed her, suddenly, that Melissa had taken so long to notice, even though there was no reason why she should have. "And then I heard the banshee around midnight. I think I woke up every half-hour, thinking it was going to happen again."

"You poor thing," said Melissa, with uncommon and genuine compassion. "Did anything happen that we should know about?"

_Yes, actually,_ Beth thought sarcastically, with no intention of actually saying it. _We saw Professor Snape torturing someone named Avery. And then Riggs showed up_

"Riggs showed up," she said aloud, surprised at the memory. "He gave me a note for Mervin."

"What?" cried Melissa, going pale, as Beth jammed the toothbrush into her mouth and dashed back into the bedroom. She returned with the note. Neither paused to wonder if it was private not that they would have cared as they unfolded it and read it together, bent over the sink.

_The Dark Lord demands the return of his snake. She will be brought to the crypt and released before the end of the month.  
Your dedicated Secretary,  
Ebenezer Nott_

Melissa groaned loudly and put her face in her hands. "That _twit_ I told him we _all_ told him"

Beth folded the note and put it in her pocket. "Don't tell him," she said. "It'll just ruin his day. I'll give it to him after classes."

"Can it really wait?"

"He's got to the end of the month." Beth finished brushing her teeth and fluffed her hair one last time before heading out to breakfast. "And if I know Mervin, it's going to take that long just to convince him to do it."

-'-'-

It was only after dinner, with the four of them gathered in the common room, that Beth handed Mervin the note from Ebenezer Nott.

He took it skeptically, read it with widening eyes, and finally slumped back in his high-backed chair in utter despair. He had lost his snake once before. Clearly, he was reliving a nightmare.

"We did warn you," Melissa said primly.

Mervin put his face in his hands. Red hair peeked through his fingers. "Can't be happening..." Beth heard him mutter, though his voice was muffled. "Won't do it..."

"Don't be silly, you've no choice," said Melissa firmly.

Bruce made an appeal to reason. "You've done what you can for her. She's back to normal."

They all glanced over at Gina, coiled as usual before the fire. Over the past several months, the serpent's health had dramatically improved. The sheen had returned to her skin; the scratches on her snout faded. The broken fang would never regrow, of course, but the sharpest bits had been worn down so they no longer cut into the scales around her jaws.

Mervin shook his head. His freckles stood out against the pale skin, as did the red marks where his palms had rested. "I will _not_ give her up again."

Worry had made Melissa's patience thin. "Mervin, you have got to send her back before somebody comes and _takes her!_"

"Never," said Mervin flatly, "he could kill her."

"Would you rather he kills _you?_" said Bruce.

Mervin thinned his lips and did not answer.

"I don't _believe_ you," Melissa breathed, crossing her arms. "Letting her out so some Death Eater could see her and report back. If you're going to keep a runaway snake you ought to at least keep her where no one can"

Mervin interrupted angrily. "But she hasn't been outside of the common room since she got here!"

Melissa stopped; her face took on a strange look. "At all?"

Mervin shook his head.

Melissa looked down at the ground. The others watched her, amazed at the response. Finally she raised her head and looked around at them. Her face was white.

"I'm afraid," she said, "that he's been in again."

They understood her at once.

"I'm calling a meeting in the Vase Room at eleven o'clock tonight. Spread the word."

Beth opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was something that she should say ... about who might have seen Gina, and reported it to the Dark Lord ... but she knew that she never would.

-'-'-

The air in the Vase Room was musty; the many vases, pots, and low couches bore a thin coat of dust, the product of months of neglect. Beth and Mervin waited to make sure that everyone got out of the common room all right, then crept through the halls to whisper "Ouch! My toe!" at the hidden door to the Society headquarters. The old password still worked flawlessly. With the ten of them all together in these familiar surroundings, it almost felt like the old days.

Beth took a seat beside Evan. She had spoken to him earlier that evening about the upcoming meeting; again, they agreed that no one else must know about Professor Snape's hidden loyalty. They knew it was a danger look at what Quirrell had almost managed to do but if he had made no bold moves yet, there was a chance that he would continue to serve only as a spy. He could not act while Dumbledore was watching.

That was what they decided, and it almost put Beth's conscience at ease.

Melissa began the meeting. "I guess you've all heard," she said, by way of introduction. "The Dark Lord found out somehow that we've got Gina inside the castle. He wants her back. And he'll get her," she added, with a menacing look at Mervin who was going to interrupt. "But that's not the issue. I don't know how he found out. Audra tells me he wasn't here himself" She gestured to the white-haired girl, who gazed back implacably. "so that means someone told him. If any of you know who could have heard about it and told the Dark Lord, I want to know."

There was a moment of silence.

Blaise spoke up hesitantly. "There are ... a few of my classmates," she said. "And ... in theory ... they have connections..."

"But so does Beth," said Bruce, almost querulously, "and it wasn't her. Or Evan," he added, though he sounded less certain of that.

Beth's cheeks flamed as the entire Society turned to look at her. (Just like the old days, she thought again.) "I don't think they would have recognized Gina," she said, to cover her blush. "As far as we know, we're the only two students who've ever gone to a Death Eater meeting." She did not mention any teachers who had.

Herne cleared his throat. "We should make a list of suspects," he suggested shyly.

"A muckle list," said Morag, frowning. "Every Slytherin kens she's here. An' the house elves besides..."

"And if one of the teachers kens er, knows," said Blaise, "surely all of them do." Beth and Evan exchanged an imperceptible glance. Her guess was too good.

"My whole family knows," said Mervin miserably. "But they'd never turn her in."

"Anyone could have written home about it," said Bruce, lacing his hands behind his head in frustration.

Oren Bergeron nodded, straightening his rimless glasses. "Or spoken about it. I mentioned it to Randall."

Melissa's head whipped toward him. "Who's Randall?"

"You know." Oren's eyes were wide with surprise at her reaction. "One of the old prefects. I met him in Hogsmeade. Randall Riggs."

A wave of relief and despair washed over Beth's mind. The secret of Professor Snape was safe ... but there was Riggs again, doing his master's bidding, ever more dangerous to the Society. Melissa and Bruce exchanged gloomy looks.

The younger students glanced at each other uncertainly. Oren cleared his throat. "Is there something wrong with him?"

Melissa sighed heavily. "I guess we're to blame we never really talked about him. Riggs was a Society member who ... went bad. I don't know exactly what happened, I don't think any of us do. Remember when the basilisk was loose, with the Dark Lord controlling it? It turned out that Riggs had been helping him nearly the whole time. He made sure those two girls were attacked so they couldn't tell anyone what the 'monster of Slytherin' was."

"Oh," said Oren, his dark face falling at the realization of his own gaffe.

Melissa nodded. "Soon after that he held us all hostage to keep us from stopping the basilisk. He transferred to Durmstrang. And we recently found out," she added, her voice taking on an edge of anger, "that he's finally gone the whole way and become a Death Eater. So there's not a spy in the school. Just an _idiot_."

"I say," said Oren, rallying at that, "I didn't know about"

"Just because he wears a ring doesn't make him a friend," said Melissa coldly. She glanced around at the entire Society. "You'd all do well to remember that.

"I know we haven't talked much this year," she said, addressing them all. "So I have to say it again. We must not put ourselves in any more danger than we already are. Don't talk about the Dark Lord, don't get caught with Potter's article, don't raise any eyebrows, don't do _anything_ to draw attention to us. I know in the past we've been active in and out of the school. That's not going to work anymore. We have to continue to lay low. He has no mercy and no limits. He'll find our friends and families. There are things worse than death."

The Vase Room rang with grim silence.

"So be careful. We're not just protecting ourselves."

Terrible words; but the most terrible are often the most true.


	24. Sybill Disobedience

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Sybill Disobedience**

On the last day of the month, Beth, Melissa, Mervin, and Bruce took Gina to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to release her back to her new master. 

Mervin was disconsolate. He had been dreading the event for a week, Beth knew; she was impressed that he was willing to go through with it at all. What had finally convinced him was the repeated insistence of his friends that Gina could fend for herself. 

"_Look_ at her, Mervin," Melissa had said, gesturing at the snake coiled at his feet. "She's enormous. She survived two years with the Dark Lord and a whole year with you not to mention this attack, and she found her way back to you. If she needs you she can find you again. Mervin, she tried to beat up Marcus Flint once. If she can deal with him, she can deal with anything." 

Reluctantly, Mervin agreed that she was a significant force. So here they stood on the snowy grounds, Gina slithering restlessly at their feet. 

She didn't look happy to be out in the snow. Mervin got down on his haunches and stroked her snout gently. After long moments, he stood up. Taking a bit of wrapped steak from his pocket, he unwrapped it, waved it in front of Gina's snout, and hurled it as far as he could into the forest. 

Gina took off after it like an arrow. She found it behind a shrub, several yards into the brush. She poked her head around, seeking the others; Mervin gestured her away. She twisted around confusedly for a moment. Finally, she flickered her tongue, picked up the meat in her jaws, and set off deeper into the forest. 

Mervin's jaw was set as Gina slithered away. He drew a deep breath. 

"D'you think we'll ever see her again?" 

Melissa smiled and put a comforting hand on his arm. Bruce chuckled to himself, as he watched the tip of Gina's tail slither round a tree trunk and disappear. Beth put her hands in her pockets. It was a relief to have finished with Nott's request, but she felt surprisingly content with their compliance. She thought that Gina really would be all right. 

"I wouldn't rule it out," she said, turning back to Mervin with a smile. Mervin nodded back, unsteadily, and the four of them returned to the castle to owl Nott that the deed was done. They had paid their dues to the Dark Lord this time; hopefully he would lose interest in them again for a while. Every Slytherin seeks fame, but in this case it was far better to be forgotten. 

-'-'-

February turned to March with a welcome calm. The days were starting to lengthen now, hesitantly, and the sky seemed less gray. There were days when the sun even shone; on those days, it was not uncommon to see teachers staring out of windows with longing faces, as well as their students. 

Beth had been dreading her first run-in with Professor Snape after the Death Eater meeting, but his attitude toward Beth remained exactly the same. He continued to treat her as a professor treats a student, which made it impossible to judge exactly how much he knew about her. She decided to believe that they were both ignorant of each other's involvement with the Dark Lord. It was a stupid assumption, she knew, but there was no other way to carry on day-to-day life. There can be freedom in denial. 

N.E.W.T.s practices continued on Wednesdays, though Beth's attendance was spotty, to Melissa's horror and disdain. Sometimes she just didn't feel like taking another class after dinner; and then there was her job with Snape, which took up more and more of her time as the potions became more complex. Beth was sure that sitting there, day after day, applying principles from Potions, Alchemy, Arithmancy and occasionally Herbology, more than made up for the formal practices that she missed. 

Melissa was not convinced. 

"All right, yes, it's _practical_," she said, at dinner one Wednesday not long into March. "But you can't be sure it will appear on the N.E.W.T.s. That's what these practices do, you know - they focus our studying so we don't waste time on things that won't show up!" 

"There is life beyond the N.E.W.T.s, you know," said Beth crossly. 

"We have to make it there first," said Melissa darkly. 

Bruce, who had heard the entire argument before, spoke up from beside them. "The Head Table's almost empty," he noted idly, twirling a spoon in his pudding. "I wonder where all the professors are tonight." 

Aaron regarded the Head Table casually. "Orgy," he decided. 

Groans and moans of disgust. 

"Pucey, you idiot," gasped Bruce, with his arm pressed over his eyes, "I have to live with that image for the rest of my life." 

"How _could_ you?" begged Melissa. 

Groaning, Beth pushed away the rest of her apple pie. "On that note..." She got up and slung her knapsack onto her shoulder. 

Melissa glanced up at her. "Going somewhere?" 

"Off to waste more time working for Snape," she said, with a grin. "Snag a tart or something for me, will you?" 

"Enjoy the orgy," Aaron said. 

She made sure to smack him upside the head on her way past. 

_Melissa has a point,_ she admitted, trudging down to the dungeons. Why was she still taking the time to worry about such an insignificant thing as her job for Snape, when there were so many other, larger things to worry about? 

_Because it's easy,_ she thought. _The worst I can do is fail._ But something urged up another thought, part grudging but part proud: _Because I like it._

Potions was her "thing". It always had been. If one of those jobs she had applied for came through, it might be forever. The prospect was overwhelming, but she found a sudden and surprising ease at the thought. She really could work on potions every day, and be happy. 

She skipped down the stairs and turned the corner into the dungeons. 

"Legilimens!" 

Without a moment's hesitation, and without realizing what she was doing, Beth put her hands over her head and hit the dirt. 

She raised her head from the floor a moment later. Nothing had happened; the hallway was empty, and the air was silent. Beth scrambled to her feet, blushing furiously. Had she imagined it? 

Faint, as if muffled through walls or doors, came the garbled sound of a boy yelling. 

Beth started towards the noise and almost immediately stopped herself. Every fiber in her being was screaming at her to get out of the dungeons and pretend she had never heard something so ominous. It could only bear ill and she had entirely too much to worry about already... She noticed that while her brain was pulling her backwards, her feet were moving her stealthily forward. 

It surely wouldn't hurt just to peek around a little. She could always just say she was coming down to do some work for Snape - which she was. Perfect excuse. If she saw something she wished she hadn't, Mervin could Obliviate her. And if she happened to prevent a murder or something, well, good for her, fifty points to Slytherin. 

_I'm almost as stupid as Rich,_ she thought, half despairing, when she heard a voice that made her scalp crawl. 

"Get up, Potter." 

The voice was indubitably Snape's; the origin, unquestionably his office. Beth stopped in her tracks. It could not, must not be what she thought it was. 

Snape spoke again, before Potter had a chance to reply. "That last memory. What was it?" 

Potter spoke then. Beth was now pressed against the wall outside of the office; the words were not clear, but they were mostly audible. "I don't ... cousin ... stand in the toilet?" 

"No..." Snape's voice dropped and took the conversation with it. Beth strained to catch his words, but she could only pick up hints: 

"...inside your head, Potter?" 

"...dream I had." 

"A dream." Snape's voice rose back into clarity, and Beth held her breath. "You do know why we are here, don't you, Potter? You do know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job?" 

Potter muttered something in reply. 

"Remind me why we are here, Potter." 

"So I can learn Occlumency." 

"Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be..." He slipped back to mutterings. "...make you feel special - important?" 

"No, they don't." 

"That is just as well, Potter," came Snape's voice, and Beth had to strain to hear it. "because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters." 

"No," came Potter's voice, challenging, "that's your job, isn't it?" 

Beth's heart seemed to stop. Mouth open, eyes wide, completely unable to believe what she had just heard, she stood frozen with her head pressed to the doorframe. Could it possibly mean what she thought it meant-? 

Her thoughts were so loud and tumultuous that she almost didn't hear Snape's next words. They were as stunning as Potter's. 

"Yes, Potter. That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again... One - two - three - _Legilimens!_" 

Blue light flickered under the door. It struck Beth suddenly what a horribly precarious position she was in. Perhaps she _wasn't_ going to do any potions work that night. Slowly, she began to back away from the door to Snape's office. 

"_Protego!_" 

Beth turned and fled from the dungeons. 

She reached the Entrance Hall in time to hear a piercing scream. 

A trunk came rocketing down from the staircase and crashed at Beth's feet. She leapt back in time to save herself from a second trunk which bounced gleefully and stopped defiantly upside-down. This was followed by Professor Trelawney, half-stumbling and half-falling down the stairs. She tripped over the last few steps and went sprawling. 

Her hair was wild, her glasses askew. She picked herself up unsteadily, staring at Beth with kohl-streaked eyes through one lens of her absurd glasses. 

"This is not happening," she whispered. 

An unmistakable voice carried down the staircase. 

"Come now, Sibyll," said Professor Umbridge, patting her hands together as she descended the stairs. "We must all know when to go gracefully." 

Her voice was chilling. 

People were starting to come out of the Great Hall to see what was the matter; a few of them disappeared and reappeared with their friends. Leaving Professor Trelawney screaming, "No! NO!", Beth fought back inside. She met her classmates on the way out. 

"What's going on?" said Bruce, his face urgent. 

"Trelawney just got chucked out of her tower!" Beth blurted, unable to describe things more clearly. 

Professor McGonagall forced through the crowd, her face worried but determined. 

"Not by Umbridge!" Melissa gasped. 

"She almost _landed_ on me!" 

"Come on, we're going it miss it!" urged Aaron Pucey, and the Slytherins joined the exodus. 

When it came to getting through crowds, there was no topping Warrington; he had them in the front lines within a minute. The professors made an impressive tableau: Trelawney, sitting on her upended trunk, sobbing into the handkerchief that McGonagall had pressed to her face, while Umbridge looked on with pride and contempt. McGonagall was speaking words of comfort. 

"... not as bad as you think, now... You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..." 

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" 

Professor Umbridge advanced. Her stocky figure and maiden-aunt trappings only made her all the more menacing. 

"And your authority for that statement is...?" 

The front doors burst open. 

"That would be mine." 

The crowd cleared to reveal the figure of Headmaster Dumbledore, straight and calm, his outline framed strangely against the clamor within, the cool dark without. He strode through the crowd, which parted before him; there was an air of great authority and timeless vigor about him, as if all his accumulated acclaim over the years had come to settle on his shoulders in one brilliant moment. Even Professor Umbridge stood awed for a moment. Then she let out a short laugh. 

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore? I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic." She had pulled out a scroll with a large purple seal and was now brandishing it like a Beater's club. "Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she - that is to say, I, - feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her." 

"Pay up," muttered Mervin. Aaron ruefully handed over ten Sickles. 

Smiling, Dumbledore gave a pleasant little bow towards Umbridge. "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts." 

"No - no," Trelawney choked, "I'll g-go, Dumbledore!" She gestured wildly with her empty bottle. "I sh-shall leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere-" 

"No." Dumbledore's voice was stern. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill. Might I ask that you escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?" 

McGonagall obliged, muttering presumably comforting things. Professor Sprout came out to assist her; Professor Flitwick, levitating the trunks deftly, followed them upstairs. Everyone turned their attention back to the remaining teachers: Umbridge and Dumbledore. 

Professor Umbridge looked like she was going to spit. "And what are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?" 

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore, as if he had done her a great favor. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor." 

A new teacher! Murmurs rippled through the student body. So far their luck with new teachers had been about seventy/thirty in favor of the evil and incompetent types. How much better could this one be, who had been found on virtually no notice, from goodness-knew-where? 

"You've found-?" Umbridge was all flabbergasted fury. "You've _found?_ Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-Two-" 

"-the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if - and only if - the headmaster is unable to find one," Dumbledore finished politely. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?" 

From the foggy night came the sound of hoofbeats. 

A dark shape moved into the doorway of the Entrance Hall - and then it came into the light, and was no longer dark, but glowing golden from long pale hair and shining white flanks. This fusion of man and horse trotted into the Hall and gazed around at the students, calm on his face and in his bare shoulders. It wasn't the same centaur that had helped them find the Precious Tree three years ago; this one was much lighter, with a more casual (and Beth thought, younger) carriage. 

"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I think you'll find him suitable." 

Professor Umbridge had no words. 

-'-'-

Student opinion on their new, unusually-shaped Divination professor was varied. 

Some of the younger Divination students came back raving that he was a genius; others declared loudly that they believed otherwise. Draco's class was not impressed, but then, they never really were. Beth regretted having dropped the class for the first time in her Hogwarts career. 

"He doesn't actually expect us to ever See anything," Melissa frowned, at lunch after her first class with the centaur. "Which will net us all top marks, anyhow. But his brand of Divination is so ... it's quite feral, and ... well, I'm not certain that the Ministry embraces it as an approved method..." 

"She means it won't be worth a box of doxies on the N.E.W.T.s," Bruce interrupted, pausing between bites of a chicken-salad sandwich. 

"Then why would he ever have gotten the job?" Beth pressed. "I mean, what made Dumbledore think, 'You know what we could really use on the teaching staff? A _centaur_.'" 

"That's easy," said Melissa, taking up her own sandwich. "He did it just for spite. Everyone knows what Umbridge thinks of half-breeds." 

In truth, hardly a day had passed since Firenze's appointment which failed to produce a dark warning about trusting "unnatural species" in D.A.D.A. 

Beth wanted to know what Audra thought of him - the little Seer had called Trelawney's class "a waste of time" - but the white-haired girl remained close-lipped. As a logical next step, she went to Oren. 

"The classroom's set up like a forest," he told her (an interesting detail that Melissa had forgotten to mention), "and he was waiting for us. Audra came in with the rest of us - Firenze spotted her, and they just looked at each other for like a minute." 

Beth thought that spoke well for Firenze's abilities in that department. 

"So did she See anything in class? In the smoke, or whatever?" 

"She says not," Oren said, shaking his head. "But," he added, pushing up his rimless glasses with one hand, "she looked a little vague for part of the class. She says she didn't see anything," he repeated, shrugging, "but I tend to doubt that." 

But whatever Audra may have seen, the tiny white-haired girl kept it to herself. Beth stopped her in the halls every once in a while to ask if there was anything they ought to know, or if anything was coming up, or (once, snidely) whether there were any other Death Eaters in the school that no one had pointed out yet. All she ever received was a brief shake of the head, and once the soft but pointed admonition: "I do sometimes think of the present, you know." 

There was so much clamor over the great public event, in fact, that it was the next day before Beth remembered the private one she had witnessed: the strange exchange between Professor Snape and Harry Potter. In other times she would have gone immediately to Richard or Melissa with the news; but this had been a year, it seemed, for unusual alliances. She left off studying for an afternoon and sought out Evan Wilkes. 

He seemed unsurprised, but then getting a strong reaction out of Evan was nearly impossible. He listened to the entire story without interrupting with a sarcastic comment or caustic observation. When she had finished he sat back in his seat. His eyes were faraway in thought. 

"I don't know what to think anymore," said Beth. "I thought he was trying to kill Potter." 

"And you didn't intervene," said Evan, with a hint of a grin. 

"Well, no, seeing as it was Potter," said Beth, grinning back. She frowned again, remembering. "Then that whole thing about, it's Snape's job to find out what the Dark Lord's up to. But he was using the Legilimens Curse ... and if Potter had wanted him to stop, he had plenty of time to do something about it..." 

"Potter wouldn't dare to ask for lessons on his own," said Evan. His dark eyes were fixed on the ground. "And Snape wouldn't give them willingly. The only one to whom they share loyalty is Dumbledore." 

Beth, too, stared at the ground; there was no use trying to meet his eyes. "You're saying that Snape is working for Dumbledore." 

"It's the only answer." 

"We know he's a Death Eater," said Beth, working it out aloud. "We think he's working for Dumbledore. It sounds like Dumbledore knows he's a Death Eater. Do you think the Dark Lord knows he's working for Dumbledore?" 

"Who knows?" said Evan. He finally raised his head. "Which one is he loyal to, and which one is he betraying?" 

It was an unanswerable question. 

"He can't hurt us." 

Beth stared at him. "He could be our enemy for _two different reasons_ and you don't think he can hurt us?" 

Evan shook his head. "No." He bent to gather his things. "Because if he does too much for either of them, the other will know it." 

He collected his books and walked off. 

Beth stayed where she was, still thinking. Evan was intelligent; he had an unusual ability to gauge peoples' motives and actions. If he believed that Snape was neutralized by his dual loyalty, he could very well be right. But then, he could be wrong ... and the stakes in this game were too high to risk that. 

-'-'-

But Professor Snape continued to hide his secrets well; and if he knew more about Beth than he should, he never let on. The two Death Eaters carried on a careful professional relationship; she graded his potions, he taught her classes, and neither spoke a word about their shared bond. Both feigned ignorance; both played their roles flawlessly. 

When it came to playing roles, of course, no one could do it like Antigone von Dervish. She had dumped Roger Davies the day after the Hogsmeade trip and had been making a big deal of her singlehood, eyeing every boy that crossed her path and spreading rumors about her own intentions. Whenever she happened to pass Warrington, her eyes simply flicked past him as if he were no more notable than a post. She was an expert ignorer. 

"He's really taking it hard," Melissa told her at lunch one day. 

Antigone glanced at her loftily. "Whoever do you mean?" 

"Warrington. I think he's-" 

"Who?" 

"_Warrington._ Your-" 

"Who?" 

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Never mind." 

"Oy, ladies." Aaron Pucey appeared and vaulted into a seat beside them, grinning round. "Want in on the Hagrid poll?" 

"Beg pardon?" Melissa raised her eyebrows. 

"To see when Umbridge gives Hagrid the sack." He winked at Beth. "Now she's done Trelawney, it's just a matter of time before Hagrid's out the door. We've got a poll running, want in?" 

He pulled out a calendar peppered with students' initials. 

"Just put your initials to claim a date, two Sickles per guess, winner takes the pot," he explained. "Minus," he added modestly, "ten percent commission to the broker." 

Beth picked the fourth of May. 


	25. Inquisitive

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Inquisitive**

The excitement over Professor Trelawney having died down, March and April fell into a dull but subdued routine. The dreary snows of March gave in to dreary rains and finally a few sparse, sunny days which promised the beginning of spring. Every day the Slytherins checked with Aaron to see who was still in the running on the Hagrid poll. Every day they were amazed to see that the half-giant had not yet been sacked. 

Beth was grateful for the quiet days. They gave her a chance to focus on things she really needed to work on - specifically, her class work and her N.E.W.T.s. After almost seven full years of school she knew perfectly well that it was impossible to be completely caught up, but she came remarkably close. She was on pace with Bruce on the N.E.W.T.s primer - about three-quarters through - and found time to attend all of the weekly practices. The potions she was grading for Snape became more complex, but she rose to the task with a capability that surprised her. All in all, it looked like the school year might not end so badly after all. 

Despite that, she would not let herself relax into complacency - too much could still go wrong. She heard from Richard near the beginning of April; he had noticed someone following him around Knockturn Alley, and had called on some of his Society alumni allies to help "nullify the threat." She thought that probably included a memory modification and some restriction of movement, but was unwilling to ask for details. Reports of Death Eater sightings sprinkled the Daily Prophet. The banshee reappeared late in March, shrieking under an open sky. At least the worst had not yet happened; and there hadn't been a Death Eater meeting since the end of February. 

Mervin slowly got over the loss of Gina and stopped looking for her every day with the magic mirror in the prefects' lounge. ("Every _other_ day," Melissa reported, rolling her eyes. "Quite an improvement, actually.") Aaron, Bruce, and Warrington endured Quidditch practices that grew longer and more demanding as the weather improved. As for the latter, Antigone had yet to shoot a single glance in his direction. Warrington remained, by parts, irritable and despondent. Fortunately his grades were already so low that they didn't suffer. 

The student body got used to seeing bare-chested Firenze shoveling down bran flakes at breakfast every day; by some reports, the centaur was slowly but surely learning to climb stairs. It was odd to sit in the common room and hear horses' hooves clatter overhead, or sometimes canter down the dungeon hallways to chat with Snape, but gradually the creature became as much a part of the Hogwarts community as Binns, Hagrid, or his batty predecessor up in the tower reading cards to see if she would ever get her job back. 

It was a calm Monday night in mid-April when the peace of the school was once more shattered. 

The common room buzzed with a pleasant mix of talk and rustling as the evening study hours were in full swing. At the seventh-years' usual table, the conversation was replaced with recitation. 

"Ulfric. Ulrich. Eldrich. Edgar." 

"You missed Emerick," Beth said, head down on the table in the middle of her History of Magic notes. 

"Bugger Emerick," said Melissa. "Where was I? Edgar. Emerson. James. George. Grogin. Clagg. Cameron..." 

"_Please_ study something else," Mervin groaned from the other end of the table. 

"I'm almost finished with the third Wizarding Council," Melissa snapped. "Cameron, Dameon, Fist and Ferrin. There. You don't have to listen to it any more." 

"_Thank goodness_." Beth raised her head from the book, conscious of a red indentation along her cheek. "Just spend ten minutes drilling me on Arithmancy, Mel, and I'll quiz you on Ancient Runes." 

"You can't read ancient runes," Melissa reminded her. 

"Well, you can't say I didn't offer." 

"_Hem hem_." 

The small sound cut over the noise as if it were a foghorn. Every eye turned toward the door. Just inside the common room stood none other than Professor Umbridge, with her fat little arms raised and a frightening little smile on her face. The common room grew extremely quiet. 

"Thank you!" said Professor Umbridge, fairly beaming. The light from the fireplace cast a mad glint in her eyes. "It is a pleasure to see all you young Slytherins working and playing so nicely together." She clasped her hands together. "First, I am pleased to report that as of tonight, I, Dolores Umbridge, am replacing Albus Dumbledore as head of Hogwarts school." 

There was a moment of dead silence. 

Then, in the silence, Draco Malfoy began to applaud. It spread through the common room like wildfire, and Professor Umbridge, pink with pleasure, smiled around at them for a full three minutes before it died down. 

"Thank you, thank you all." She clasped her hands before her and put on a faux-mournful expression. "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news." Murmurs of interest. "It seems that several of your classmates in the other three houses have been involved with an organization which flaunts the tenets of Educational Decree number Twenty-Four." 

Beth and Melissa exchanged a look of dread. Was number twenty-four the one banning unapproved societies? Had the Society been found out? Or the Guild? Or... 

"These students, calling themselves 'Dumbledore's Army' -" There were derisive snickers from the students, and the Society members joined in nervously. "- have escaped punishment on a mere technicality. Many of them have shown criminal tendencies in the past, and I have no doubt that they will attempt to re-form themselves into this 'army' or something very similar. We can't have that, can we?" 

"No, Professor Umbridge," came the singsong reply. 

_I can't believe how well she has us trained,_ Beth thought. She was having trouble absorbing the information about Dumbledore and the fall of the D.A. What did that mean for the Guild members who had been in the D.A.? And further, what did that mean for the Society? 

"Of course not," Professor Umbridge crooned. "That's why I have come to you, my most _loyal,_ my most _trustworthy_ students. As Headmistress, I wish to form a group of you to help ... keep an eye on the student body. To prevent this sort of occurrence in the future." She smiled sweetly. "This 'Inquisitorial Squad' will of course require certain privileges of movement, and the ability to take house points as necessary." 

There was more silence as the meaning of her words sunk in. 

"Pansy and I are at your service, Professor," Draco Malfoy said, bowing slightly. "Crabbe and Goyle as well." Crabbe and Goyle, exchanging sinister grins, stood up in tandem. 

"Your enthusiasm is delightful, Mr. Malfoy," said Umbridge smoothly. "The decision, however, must not be made lightly." There were a few murmurs of agreement (and a whole lot of less pleasant mutterings in the background). She raised her palm and a pink scroll appeared in it. "All those interesting in joining my little club should put down their names," she crooned, once again addressing the entire room. "I'll just nip back and pick up the scroll once you're all off to bed." She paused. "Won't it be lovely once Hogwarts is all settled down and safe again?" 

She meant, of course, once Hogwarts was under her own control. Everyone knew it and no one said it. With a cheery little wave night-night, Umbridge left the common room. 

The room exploded into conversation. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Draco Malfoy strode to the pink sign-up sheet and put down his name. He was followed immediately by Pansy Parkinson and that indispensable pair, Crabbe and Goyle. (Beth thought they were sure to make it on the squad, since they had a total of ten years' experience being thugs already.) With an air of satisfaction, the group retreated to a corner, where they put their heads together in a very sinister way. 

Slowly, a stream of students began making their way to the parchment. Scrawny, ambitious students; large, dull students; heavy-lidded students who looked as if they had nothing better to do. All of the bratty second-years signed up. 

Warrington cast a desperate look across the room at Antigone, who was looking at her nails. The blonde girl glanced up. Instantly, Warrington was on his feet. He charged toward the scroll, scrawled his name down, and turned back to Antigone triumphantly. She was no longer watching. 

Warrington's shoulders slumped; he retreated quietly to the boys' dorm. 

Beth could hardly believe how fast it was happening. The common room was filling up with spies. If caught, anything the Society did could be interpreted as another underground attempt to destroy Umbridge, and then what? How were they to do anything, even to protect themselves, without being watched? 

There was, of course, only one thing to do. 

She marched up to the scroll and put down her name. 

She scanned the rest of the list. There were some pretty good candidates on there, tough guys. Montague had signed up. Well, if it was bulk she wanted... Beth scrawled down her height beside her name. Then, as an afterthought, she put down her weight - lying, for the first and last time in her life, by twenty pounds on the plus side. 

She had no sooner returned to the table than Melissa was at her shoulder, wide-eyed with bafflement. 

"Are you mad?" hissed Melissa, close to her ear. "The Dark Lord's got his mark on you, and here you go signing up to be one of Umbridge's minions too! How many evil dictators do you think you can serve at once?" 

"I'd rather be trying to serve her than hide from her," Beth snapped back. She was suddenly not sure why she _had_ done it. "There's no way she'll pick me anyway. My father's not rich or famous and doesn't know anyone at the Ministry." 

Melissa cast a worried glance at the list, and the still-lengthy queue of student volunteers. 

"I'm almost grateful," she said. 

-'-'-

Beth was shaken awake while the dormitory still lay in predawn darkness. 

"Miss! Miss!" 

Beth struggled to focus her eyes, feeling as if she were swimming to the surface of a murky river. The squeaky voice sounded familiar. "W-Wobbly?" 

"Gilly, miss," came the reply. Beth blinked awake to find a wide-eyed house elf on her chest. It was clutching a piece of paper. 

Beth took the paper and turned it three ways, squinting, before she was awake enough to make out the flowery handwriting. 

_You have been selected to join the Hogwarts  
Inquisitorial Squad. Report to the office of the  
Headmistress at seven o'clock a.m. promptly._

"Thanks," said Beth groggily. The house elf bowed and vanished. 

_Headmistress,_ she thought, staggering out of bed. _That's funny. Dumbledore's not a girl._ She shuffled to the showers. 

Only after she had dried off and wrapped her hair in a towel did she realize what the note had said. 

"Headmistress," she said aloud. 

Professor Umbridge had taken control of Hogwarts. It hadn't been just a strange dream. And she, Beth, had actually volunteered to join some sort of "enforcement squad," which was meeting at seven o'clock that morning. 

Beth dressed and dried her hair hastily. Grabbing her knapsack, she hurried to the common room in time to meet Warrington and Montague coming from the other hallway. Montague tipped her an insolent nod; Warrington gave her a tired smile. 

The three of them left and started down the hall to Umbridge's office. It wasn't long before other students started to catch up with them: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, the inevitable Crabbe and Goyle. Close behind them strode Millicent Bulstrode, and another girl who Beth didn't know. She was as tall as Beth but heavier, with a strong and statuesque Germanic build. Her brown hair was pulled back in a smooth ponytail. 

"Seven in the morning," the girl muttered wryly, shooting Beth a grin. "I never would've signed up if I'd known." 

Beth couldn't help herself. "Why _did_ you sign up?" 

"My ex is a Hufflepuff," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "Revenge is gonna be sweet." 

She introduced herself as Jeanne Thwaite, a sixth-year student. Beth found herself liking the girl more and more as they chatted. She sounded level-headed and intelligent; it was nice to know that Beth wouldn't be the only non-thug in the squad. 

They reached Umbridge's office in a pack. The door was closed; Draco Malfoy took the initiative to knock. 

"Do come in!" 

The voice was frighteningly cheery, particularly for that time of the morning. Draco glanced back at them before creaking open the door. 

Dolores Umbridge sat behind her desk, wearing a huge grin and her favorite cardigan. Her desk bore a new accessory: a polished wooden block bearing the word "HEADMISTRESS." Beth suspected she had made it herself. "Come along inside!" she chirped, and the Inquisitorial Squad shuffled in one by one. "Do shut the door, dear," she simpered at Jeanne, who did so. 

As soon as the door was closed, Umbridge's face changed. It was like a light switch going off. Her simper turned sinister; she leaned forward over the desk like a newspaper editor, like a dictator. 

"You will be patrolling the hallways," she said, not an inch of indecision in her voice. "You will be listening in on the conversations of students and teachers alike. You will be reading all incoming and outgoing mail. At the slightest hint, at the _most miniscule sign_ of disloyalty to myself or the Ministry of Magic, you will report to me at once. You will be my eyes and ears in every classroom and hallway of my school." 

So the Inquisitorial Squad was to be less of a bodyguard and more of a spy network. That was all right with Beth. She had her share of spy experience. 

"Headmistress," Draco Malfoy ventured, "you mentioned extended privileges." 

She smiled widely at the sound of her new title. "That I did, Mr. Malfoy. You will be encouraged to take house points and assign detentions to any ... troublemakers." Clearly her definition extended to malcontents and rabble-rousers as well. "Out of necessity, the school curfew will no longer apply to you." 

She sat back at her desk, looking as pleased as a vampire in a blood bank. "Please report to my office this evening. We shall begin screening the owl post immediately." Her wide face became thoughtful. "We really ought to have some way of distinguishing the eight of you. Yes, I think we shall have to have some badges made up." 

Draco Malfoy was able to recommend an excellent vendor. 

-'-'-

The badges showed up near the end of the first class, borne by harried-looking house elves that vanished as soon as their burdens were relieved. The badges were small and silver, in the shape of an "I" which presumably stood for "Inquisitor" (Beth hoped that none of the other students would get creative on that point). She and Warrington pinned them to their sweaters while the rest of the class watched in slight awe. 

Over break the first few students began to notice this new authority which had descended on the halls of Hogwarts; by the time Beth left her second class of the morning and started toward the Great Hall for lunch, people were actively moving out of her way - word had spread with traditional Hogwarts speed. As a Slytherin, Beth was used to the occasional sideways glance, but nothing had prepared her for a whole school full of them. She hurried to the company of her classmates as fast as she could go. 

They had no sooner passed around the platter of sandwiches when the Great Hall was filled with the sound of a table-shaking explosion. 

Bruce dropped the plate as the chair bucked under him; sandwiches went scattering across the table. He looked up at them, eyes wide. "What on _earth_-?" 

The sound of smaller booms and crackles peppered the air, from far down the side hallway ... then, without warning, an enormous golden dragon made entirely of sparklers rocketed into the Great Hall, made a wide sweeping flight around the ceiling, and dove for the Slytherin table. 

A Slytherin has no use for bravery when his life is at stake. The table scattered, shouts and yells almost lost amid the laughs from the other tables - which quickly turned to shrieks of their own as the sparkling dragon skimmed the table and circled back to dive-bomb the Gryffindors. 

Beth climbed out from under the table, nerves shot, and watched as the dragon zipped out into the hallway. "What...?" was all she managed, as Bruce tugged Mervin out from under a chair and Melissa hastily patted her disheveled hair. 

"I've gotta see this," Bruce breathed. 

They dashed into the hall. Immediately, the extent of the chaos became clear. Sparklers, firecrackers and shimmering fireworks of all types ricocheted around the walls and reflected weird colors onto the ceiling. Students ran this way and that, protecting their heads with their hands. In the midst of it stood Professor Umbridge, jabbing her wand uselessly into the air, with Argus Filch nearby holding the smoking shaft of a broomstick. 

Beth ducked behind Bruce before Umbridge could catch sight of her. "Let's get out of here," she muttered. "If the old bat sees me she'll want me to help..." 

A smoking purple bat zinged in their direction and everyone in the hallway ducked. 

"Come on!" hissed Melissa, and they joined the crowd in running from the deflagration. 

The fireworks kept up throughout the afternoon. When the seventh-years met in the library after classes for their regular homework session, they found it no less chaotic than the hallways. 

"I'm going to kill them," Melissa seethed, picking ashes out of her hair. "I'm going to kill the both of them." By now most of the school had a pretty good idea of who to blame for the disruption, although no one found it necessary to tell Umbridge. 

"Get in line," snarled Bruce. He wetted his thumb and continued extinguishing the live embers that had alighted on his book cover when a Catherine wheel exploded. 

Mervin ran past screaming, a blazing pink pig-shaped firecracker hot on his tail. 

"This is ridiculous," said Beth, slamming her book shut. There was a commotion from the front of the library as one of the great golden dragons soared in the door and made for the Herbology section, with Madam Pince in frantic pursuit. "This is _crazy._ N.E.W.T.s are in eight weeks." 

Mervin darted back to them and dove under the table. The pig-shaped firecracker zoomed past, hesitated in the aisle, and finally zipped away into the corridor. Mervin crept out of his hiding place and slumped into a seat beside them. 

"Mervin, do something," Melissa ordered, pointing at the dragon circling the ceiling. 

"Not me," said Mervin instantly. "I tried Banishing that one and it came after me." 

"Mervin, you're the best jinxer of us all," Melissa wheedled, her impatience showing through the flattery. "Surely you can think of something." 

"I..." Mervin bit his lip, thinking hard. "All right..." He raised his wand. 

"_Incendio!_" 

"Not that!" shrieked Melissa, but it was too late. The dragon burst into flame. It let out a wild roar, writhing in midair. Then it exploded. Clouds of soft gray ash rocketed out in all directions across the library. 

"Hey!" said Mervin, ash drifting like snow onto his hair. "It went out!" 

"Well done," said Bruce admiringly. 

"You know what they say," grinned Mervin, "fight fire with..." 

"Don't say it," snapped Melissa, brushing ash from her hair. She snatched a textbook from the table and held it open upside-down above her head. "All right. Now go on and get the rest." 

Soon the library had been cleansed of fireworks; when the other students joined in, it took only a few minutes to catch all the loose sparklers, and Madam Pince slammed shut the door to prevent any further intrusions. A few scorch marks remained on the ceiling, and more than a few chairs had newly-charred patches, but the pandemonium had (mercifully) been vanquished. 

"Ridiculous," said Bruce, heaving his charred knapsack onto his back. "I just hope they haven't got onto the Quidditch pitch. At least if they have, I'll know what to do..." He nodded his thanks to Mervin and left for practice. 

"Can't you do something?" said Melissa, turning to Beth. "You've got that badge now, couldn't you - expel them or something?" 

"You're the prefect," said Beth. She was unnerved by the idea that she had become one of the most powerful students in the school, literally overnight. "Both of you. You and Mervin could put them in detention for the rest of the year." 

But Mervin had turned back to his books and was staring at an open page, apparently transfixed. 

"Hey," he said, and both of them were startled at his tone. "Is this what you were talking about?" 

The words on his page had melted into a message. 

_ENTRANCE HALL   
MIDNIGHT_

Beth raised her head quickly and looked around the library. She caught sight of Kiesha Chambers two tables over. The girl winked, smiled, and returned to her studies. 

"It's them," she said. She turned to Melissa. "Are we going to go?" 

Melissa's lips were pursed. "Yes," she said at last. "At least, we'll hear what they have to say. With Dumbledore gone, we're going to need all the allies we can get." 

-'-'-

Bruce returned to the common room just half an hour after he had left. 

"Quick practice," Beth noted, glancing up at him. 

"Didn't happen," said Bruce, pulling out a seat and propping his broomstick against the table. "Montague never showed up." 

Mervin shot him a mildly interested glance. "Really? I thought he was a real slavedriver." 

"He is, unless he's in a mood." Bruce frowned. "We reckoned he was either sick or throwing some sort of tantrum. Game isn't for three weeks, we'll just practice later this week." 

"Splendid," said Melissa. She plunked a N.E.W.T.s primer in front of him. "Then you'll be able to review common tea leaf orientations with us before the meeting tonight." 

"Meeting?" Bruce echoed, looking unhappily at the primer. 

Beth let the two of them deal with tea leaves - she hadn't done any Divination since third year and had no intention of trying for her N.E.W.T., even if it was likely to be the easiest section. Sighing, she went on with her Herbology. The going had gotten easier, but Beth was loath to admit it - in fact, she hardly noticed it. Under the shadow of her dislike for the subject, she failed to realize how much she had improved. 

By evening, however, they had all gotten sick of working, and sat around chatting until it was time for the reunion meeting with the Guild of the Eagle. All of the Society had been informed; many of them were skeptical of the Guild's intentions, but they agreed with Melissa that it was worth it to see what they wanted. By midnight Draco and Pansy still labored on in one corner - Beth had overheard that they were taking the O.W.L.s seriously - but it wasn't difficult for Mervin to knock them out for a few minutes while the Society crept out of the common room. 

"They needed the sleep anyway," he whispered, as they reached the Entrance Hall. "Doing them a favor, really." 

"You're just a brother of mercy," Beth told him, rolling her eyes, before stepping onto the enchanted floorwork and zooming up into the tower of the Guild of the Eagle. 

When she popped into the library the Guild had been seated, calm; as soon as she took a step forward, however, she found many pairs of eyes trained angrily on her, and more than one wand pointed in her direction. 

She raised both hands in surrender. "What is this?" 

Michael Corner, one of the ones with his wand out, scowled at her. "You have some nerve, coming up here!" 

Beth didn't know whether to yell at him or pity his crazed mind. "You invited us back!" she said impatiently. 

"That was before we knew you had joined the Inquisitorial Squad," said Cho Chang from behind him, her voice grim. 

"Oh." Beth looked down at the badge on her chest; she hadn't even realized she was still wearing it. She turned to the Ravenclaw chair, hands still in the air. "I joined the Inquisitorial Squad so that I could protect the Society's interests," she said carefully, trying not to sound too patronizing. "I can do the same for the Guild." 

Deirdre did not look at all pleased; and for her, that was saying something. "How are we to trust you, with that badge on your chest?" 

"This is crazy, I-" Beth broke off and took a deep breath. "If I was going to turn you in, I would have done it already to earn points with Umbridge." 

The way to a Ravenclaw's heart is through his head. Beth's appeal to logic was enough to turn the sentiment of the Guild. "Good point," Michael Corner admitted, putting down his wand. 

"I'm not going to tattle on you," Beth said, taking a seat (somewhat huffily) near Kiesha. "It's my neck too, you know. Anyway, if any of your secrets got out you'd probably know it was me and kill me." 

"Probably," said Cova Lynn brightly. 

"We'd send our perky little first-year hitwoman," Kiesha said, jerking a thumb at Cova Lynn, who beamed at her. 

By that time most of the Society was through the floor and taking their old places in the tower. Melissa approached Deirdre's desk. 

"Why did you invite us back?" 

Deirdre seemed to catch the hint of a grudge in her bluntness, but remained composed. "The balance of power in the school has changed," she said. "Both of our groups are in the same position. Alliances are more important than ever. As your Secretary seems to have realized," she added, gesturing at Beth's silver "I" badge. 

"I told you," said Beth, "I signed up so I could-" 

"Understood," said Deridre shortly. She returned to Melissa. "You have assisted Dumbledore in the past, as have we. I think it is in the interest of both parties to support each other until he returns." 

It had not occurred to Beth that Dumbledore would ever return to Hogwarts. "You're optimistic," said Melisss, her tone skeptical. 

"Ollivander, I am a realist," said Deirdre firmly. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of this age. Dolores Jane Umbridge is most _certainly_ not." 

Melissa considered that. "All right," she said at last, leaning across the desk to shake Deirdre's hand. "Let's hope you're right." 

She took a seat with the Society. Deirdre glanced around at them, as if sizing them all up, and said, "Then let me tell you where things stand. We have managed to learn exactly what happened to Dumbledore." 

The Society was astounded. Melissa's jaw dropped. "How did you find out?" 

"I heard something about Fudge getting a pumpkin for a head," said Oren, eyeing Deirdre skeptically. "Is that true?" 

Deirdre ignored him. "Marietta Edgecombe was present. We performed a Recurrus charm on her." 

"We trapped her in the bathroom!" Cova Lynn piped up. 

"Our method isn't important," said Deirdre quickly. "Our results, however, are." 

Melissa watched her closely. "What did you learn?" 

Deirdre glanced over at Michael. "Corner, if you please." 

Michael Corner unrolled the scroll. "It's in Dumbledore's office. Present are: Umbridge, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Potter; Minister Fudge; two unnamed persons, presumably Ministry workers, probably Aurors; Percy Weasley, taking notes. Marietta is brought into Dumbledore's office by Umbridge in order to testify about the D.A.; she won't speak." 

"I don't blame her," somebody injected, "did you see her _face?_" 

The meeting was recessed for a few minutes as everyone attempted at once to describe their impressions of Marietta Edgecomb's new skin complaint. 

Deirdre permitted the interruption for a while before clearing her throat loudly. "Go on, Corner." 

Michael glanced over at Cho as if to be sure she was watching; then he continued reading. "As Marietta won't say anything, Umbridge describes how she found out: a spy in the Hog's Head. Dumbledore reminds her that student organizations weren't illegal back then; she reminds him that they are now. But no one will admit that there have been any meetings since then. Umbridge goes nuts - grabs Marietta, she's shaking her-" 

"That beastly woman," said Cho, her voice tight. 

"Dumbledore stops her," Michael went on. "Umbridge says that Marietta told her about last night's meeting and that she went to catch the students but they scattered." 

"Ahh, is _that_ what happened?" snorted Anthony, who had been there. 

"So I hear," retorted Michael, who had too. "Anyway, she got the list of names-" 

"I always thought that was a stupid idea," Mervin muttered to Beth. She nodded slightly. 

"-and when Dumbledore got a look at it, he took responsibility for the whole thing and insisted that this was to have been the first meeting, so none of us had actually broken the rules. He said we really were his army," he said, lowering the parchment and looking around at them gravely. "He took all the blame for us." 

There was a moment of awed silence. 

"What then?" popped in Cova Lynn brightly. 

"Then Fudge made to arrest him, he Stunned the whole room and got away. Except," Michael added, with a meaningful look at Deirdre, "McGonagall, Potter, and Marietta hit the dirt before the spell went off. They had a chat of some sort - we don't know what - and then Dumbledore took off with his pet phoenix." 

"And he has not been seen since," Deirdre finished, looking displeased. "Well, worse could have happened; if they had convicted our D.A. students and thought to use Veritaserum, the Guild could have easily been revealed. Your secrets could have gone with it," she added to Melissa. 

Beth shuddered. The Society kept more secrets than the Guild knew. 

"In Dumbledore's absence we are left to make the best of things." Deirdre remained remarkably calm despite the enormity of the situation. "Which, of course, is why we have brought the Society back into our confidence. Your prefects can help to protect us both; you can help keep Professor Umbridge under check, or at least under surveillance. Cho, Michael, and Anthony - it will be best for all if you avoid our new Headmistress as much as possible." Cho nodded in fervent agreement. "The rest of you will continue to do what you can to learn of her motives and ultimate goals." 

"That's easy," said Michael gloomily. "She wants to rule the world." 

"Then focus on the short-term," Deirdre shot back. "You," she said, turning to the Society, "seem to be her favored house. I trust that you yourselves are aware of how powerful your position can be. In particular, Parson, we would appreciate if you directed attention away from the Guild." 

"No problem," said Beth. "In fact, we're going to have to start reading all incoming and outgoing mail. I'll sign up for Ravenclaw and let yours through." 

"We are greatly obliged," said Deirdre, and she actually looked like she meant it. "That is all we can do for the moment. I expect our groups to share information about the whereabouts of Dumbledore, should they ever be known," she said to Melissa, who nodded. 

"It makes me so _mad,_" said Cho Chang, and her fists were actually clenched. "None of this would have happened if Granger hadn't made us sign that stupid membership list. They would never have known what we were up to and Dumbledore would never have had to leave." 

It was true, Beth realized. The implications were staggering. If a simple list of membership could do so much damage, how much more damning was the Ledger? 

Beth shuddered and hoped, for the thousandth time that year, that Richard was being very careful. 

-'-'-

Montague failed to turn up for breakfast; in fact, Herne reported that he had never come to bed at all. 

"And Evan put a curse on the door," he added, "so we would have known." 

"He's off sulking," Bruce said dismissively, piling sausages onto his plate. 

Melissa lowered her voice. "Aren't you a bit _worried?_ There are _Death Eaters_ out there now!" 

Beth did not feel inclined to point out that there had, in fact, been Death Eaters inside the school since September, and in fact for many years previous. 

"Honestly. Why would a Death Eater break into Hogwarts and kidnap Montague? It's Potter they'll want." Bruce downed another sausage, looking quite unconcerned. "If anything, Montague's run off and joined them. He'll be back by the Hufflepuff game." 

Beth thought he was probably right, but thought it was strange that the Quidditch captain had taken to not turning up so suddenly. 

Most of the fireworks had burnt out overnight, but the attack had ignited some latent force within the school - suddenly everyone wanted to be a prankster on par with the Weasley twins. Beth smelled more Dungbombs that day than in the previous three years combined. While nothing came close to the scale of the fireworks attack, Beth saw portraits turned wrong-side-up, suits of armor enchanted into doing popular dances, Gobstones in the halls, and was nearly decapitated by a fanged Frisbee (that infraction prompted her to use her powers as an Inquisitor for the first time; she had to admit that taking twenty points from a cowering first-year had a certain appeal). 

She was not the only one making use of her newfound authority. The Inquisitorial Squad had brought out the worst in Warrington. Not since he had put his name in the Goblet of Fire had he been the recipient of such awe and respect. He took points from everybody. No one was surprised when he failed to show up for Charms one day, having been hexed in the hallways between class. 

"Skin like tree bark," Aaron elaborated, wide-eyed. "Like scales. Bloody horrible." 

Being on the Squad had unexpected effects on Beth as well. She was used to being ignored, or mildly disliked for the green patch on her robes; now she was looked upon with fear, anger and even revulsion. She had not anticipated the way that people would turn away and conversations break up when she passed. 

"They keep watching me," she muttered to Melissa, one day in the library after dinner. 

"Who?" Melissa inquired, not taking her eyes from her textbook. 

"Everybody." Beth turned her head to the right and a cluster of Hufflepuffs hastily lowered their heads; to the left, and an Astronomy study group lowered their voices. 

"Well you ought to have expected that," said Melissa, infuriatingly calm. "They do it to me sometimes, and I'm just a prefect." 

"I've hardly taken points from anybody. I really don't care. I wish they would all just keep to themselves and _stop looking at me_." 

"You could take points from them if they look at you," Melissa suggested, licking her thumb and flipping to the next page of her textbook. 

Beth's face fell. "Melissa, you are missing the point." 

Hard and angry footsteps caused them both to look up. Cho Chang, holding a textbook close to her chest, red-faced with fury, stormed through the library with Kiesha Chambers close behind her. She looked all around the library, but didn't seem to find a group that she wanted to join - finally, to everyone's surprise, she stormed over to throw herself into a chair across from Melissa and Beth. 

"I do not," said Cho to Melissa, "_believe_ the nerve of that boy." 

Melissa cast Kiesha a half-curious, half-wary sort of look. _Potter,_ Kiesha mouthed back, and Melissa nodded with relief before turning back to Cho. 

"What's he done now?" 

"Other than making me furious? Only _demonized_ my best friend is all. The little twit - I really should know not to trust younger men-" 

That would have been funny if not for the vehemence with which she said it. 

"Voice down," Kiesha cautioned, "Pince is looking at you funny." 

"Bugger Pince," said Cho, though she lowered her voice nonetheless. "All right, Marietta ratted out the D.A.," she said, addressing Beth and Melissa. "I know it, everybody knows it. But she didn't mean to - to have Dumbledore arrested or anything, or even to have us all in trouble - Potter just won't see that she's really not some horrible hag - although now she looks it thanks to that _wretch_ - and I tried to apologize and he just - he threw it in my face!" Cho's face was red. "I've never _been_ so angry. He didn't bother to listen to me at all - he wouldn't give Marietta the least little chance-" 

"So ... that's it for you and Potter," said Kiesha. 

"That is it," said Cho ferociously, "for me and Potter." She plunged into an empty chair and threw open her textbook. 

The Slytherins exchanged glances. 

"Well," said Melissa at last. "That's a relief." 

Cho stared at her. 

"Right," Beth chimed in. "You can do better than Potter." 

"We were afraid you'd get together and we'd have to pretend to like him," Melissa added. 

"We were thinking about breaking away from the Guild again," said Beth, with utter sincerity. 

Cho looked from one to the other. Then, almost unexpectedly, she broke into laughter. "You _are_ all evil!" Her laughter was so genuine, so full of relief, Kiesha began chuckling just to hear it; then the four of them were all joining in together, giggling, leaning on each other, their books forgotten before them. 

Just then Herne burst into the library and dashed to their table. His usually ruddy face was quite pale. 

"They found Montague!" 

-'-'-

Half of Slytherin house gathered around the cot in the infirmary wing. 

"What's wrong with him?" rumbled Warrington, looking highly troubled. 

"Has he said anything?" Aaron muttered to Melissa, who shook her head gravely. 

"I'm not sure he _can_ say anything," she whispered back. 

Madam Pomfrey bustled through them, bearing a tray with several potions and a cold compress. She shouldered in between Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, looking both vexed and worried. 

"Where was he?" Bruce spoke up. He sounded more composed than Beth would have expected. 

"In a fourth-floor toilet," Madam Pomfrey said bitterly, "though lord knows how he got there. He's in no fit shape to tell us." 

Montague's eyes were wide open, fixed on the ceiling. His mouth was slack. Lying there, helpless and shameless, occasionally giving a twitch that was more like a flinch, he suddenly looked more real - more _human_ - than ever. His vulnerability was unsettling. Beth looked away. 

"Madam Pomfrey, is it possible that my student could be left in peace?" 

Professor Snape loomed up from behind them, with Draco Malfoy hovering proudly nearby. He made his way through the crowd (which parted for him) and bent over Montague. He snapped upright quickly. 

"What's wrong with the boy?" he said crisply, to Madam Pomfrey. 

"Nothing physically," said Madam Pomfrey, leaning over to put a wet cloth on Montague's head. The boy flinched away slightly at her touch. "But he's more than addled. It's like a waking coma." 

Professor Snape looked down at Montague's lax face for a moment, then turned and glared around at the assembled crowd. "Back to the common room, all of you." There was no room in his tone for arguing; no one had the heart for it anyway. "You'll be told at once if there is the slightest change. As of now you are merely in the way. Be off." 

The Slytherins turned and began to leave the infirmary ... down to the dungeons, the windowless dormitories and stone walls which housed them, but had failed to protect one of their own. 

-'-'-

The attack on Montague brought home something that Beth hadn't really considered - she knew that joining the Inquisitorial Squad was going to make her unpopular but she had no idea that it might put her in serious physical danger. She decided to keep as low a profile as possible, and not give out punishments unless it was absolutely unavoidable. 

The problem was, it was extremely hard not to do her job. Everywhere she went, there would be clusters of students whispering together, giving her the evil eye, or even discussing Umbridge in a less than discreet manner. Those groups generally didn't notice her until she walked up, tapped one on the shoulder and said, "Five points. For heavens' sake don't talk so loud." 

Then she would leave before they had a chance to decide whether or not to hex her. 

A couple of days after Montague turned up, Beth was having a quiet breakfast and trying to keep her Inquisitorial Squad badge hidden when Draco Malfoy strolled up to her. Without pretense or greeting, he held out what looked like a tube of toothpaste. 

"A gift for a colleague." 

Warily, Beth took the tube and looked it over. The metallic tube was painted white and lettered in bold blue. 

SPELL SCREEN   
Effective against incidental curses, hexes and jinxes   
50 blockage of indirect spells   
Not intended for use in duels or spell-heavy environments   
WARNING: REDUCES EFFECTIVENESS OF PROTECTIVE SPELLS  
AND CHARMS. USE AT YOUR OWN RISK

"I had my father send it in," said Draco smugly. "Umbridge reckons we all ought to use it. In case whoever got Montague tries it again. Oh no, keep it," he demurred, when Beth tried to had it back. "Father sent a whole case." 

"All right ... thanks," said Beth, looking down at the tube. 

"Don't mention it," said Draco, with a we're-all-in-this-together type of smirk. He sauntered back to his classmates. 

Beth gazed down at the tube in her hand, shaking her head. "Spell Screen," she said aloud. Never in all her years had she imagined that she would ever need such a thing just to walk the halls. 

Well, times had changed. Before class she ducked into the girls' room and rubbed it all over her face and arms. It couldn't hurt to be prepared. 


	26. Vanishing Acts

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Vanishing Acts**

For the second time in Beth's memory, Dumbledore had lost control of Hogwarts. 

Back in fourth year, when he had been ousted by the board of governors for letting the Chamber of Secrets be opened, the Slytherins had griped and complained about McGonagall being in charge - but it hadn't been so bad, really, the school rules stayed in place and things went on as usual. It was a peaceful transition of power. 

This coup changed everything, from top to bottom. Umbridge had the Inquisitorial Squad strategically patrol in between classes, and hinted that the fireplaces were now being watched by the Ministry itself. Argus Filch, who had put petition after petition to Dumbledore asking to be rid of Peeves, was heard rejoicing that his dream might finally come true - and some whispered that he had asked about reinstating the thumb chains too. The teachers were still prevented from speaking about anything other than their subjects, and the students became increasingly wary of conversing in the open. 

For Beth, it meant a complete upheaval of her daily schedule. In addition to everything else, she now had to put in an hour every night reading other students' mail and checking for contraband, incendiary statements, or anti-Ministry comments, all of which were to be Obliterated on sight. Beth worked on the Ravenclaw mail whenever she could, passing through the Guild without omission (although she occasionally Obliterated an adjective or two, just to make it seem like she was doing her job). Draco invariably read the Gryffindor mail, often aloud and with much glee. Very few items of mail passed through his hands without a few scorch marks. Warrington showed up the first two nights, but his reading was so painfully slow that he was ultimately excused. Of course, all the Slytherin mail got through unopened. 

"I feel like I've been doing this forever," Beth sighed to Melissa that Friday morning, pinning on her Inquisitorial Squad badge as they strolled from the dormitories to the common room. "And it's only been a week." 

"It'll only be for six more weeks," Melissa consoled her. "After we've left school, who cares what happens in Hogwarts?" 

Once they were out of the school, they would be visible to the Dark Lord again. "Then the fun really begins," said Beth under her breath. "That's the other thing," she added, louder. "Only six weeks until N.E.W.T.s, and I spent ten hours this week reading other people's mail. I can't spare that kind of time, Mel ... oh no. _What_ is that?" 

Melissa had stopped and was staring at the bulletin board. A parchment of familiar size and shape had been posted. 

"Not again!" 

But the document was not, in fact, another Educational Decree; it was something very different. 

Quidditch trials will be held on the field at one o'clock p.m.   
this Saturday only.   
All students in second year or older interested in playing for   
the house team should try out. Current team members _must be   
present._   
**All positions should be considered available.**   
Bruce Bletchley, substitute captain 

"Substitute captain," said Melissa, half derisive and half impressed. "I suppose he appointed himself." 

"Actually," came the calm voice behind her, "I went to Professor Snape and offered to take over Montague's position so that the team would stay in the running for the Quidditch Cup." 

They turned around to see Bruce standing at their shoulders, hands clasped behind his back. 

"Of course," said Melissa, with at least the good grace to blush. "Not that you won't do a wonderful job, I just never..." 

"Let's go to breakfast," Bruce interrupted, "I'm starved." 

No sooner, however, had they been seated and served themselves some eggs than Draco Malfoy stormed up. For one of the first times in living memory, he did not have Crabbe and Goyle beside him. He came up behind Bruce, who glanced back at him without concern; indeed, as if he had been expecting this. 

"What's this about all positions being considered available?" said Draco hotly. 

Bruce remained unperturbed. "Without Montague, the whole group dynamic's changed," he explained blandly, not looking up from his breakfast. "It's important that we have a team that can work together, not six cooperating players and a replacement Chaser." 

"There is no one in this school," said Draco, seething, "who is a better Seeker than me." 

Bruce glanced over. He looked the fifth-year up and down. "Then you've nothing to worry about," he said. He calmly went back to his food. 

Making a very obvious effort to hold his composure, Draco spun on his heel and stalked away. 

"That was rather rude," said Melissa disapprovingly. 

"That was really funny," Beth grinned. 

"Yeah," said Bruce, cracking a smile himself. "Thing is, he needn't even have worried about his place on the team - he's never been beat in the trials. I just want everyone there so I can make up a good alternate team." 

Whatever his motivation, Bruce's notice sent a buzz of excitement through the house. Nothing excited the students of Slytherin like a competition; Beth remembered the restless thrill, the delighted anxiety which filled the common room before the competitors were chosen Triwizard Tournament. Now she felt it in the air again - on a smaller scale, but infused with the same ambition and desire that characterized everything the Slytherins did. 

That first Saturday of Easter break dawned clear and cool, a dewy spring morning that promised a warm afternoon. While most of the Slytherins scurried around the common room after breakfast, debating whether it was still cool enough to require a jacket, Beth settled onto the sofa with an armful of Arithmancy. 

Melissa - who _had_ decided to wear a jacket, as well as her new scarf from Hogsmeade - stopped by on her way out the door. "Aren't you coming to the trials?" 

"I _told_ you, Mel, I can't spare the time," Beth groaned. "I've got mail duty tonight. Then Snape's got this awful batch of - I don't even know what, really difficult potions, I only got a third of the way through them last week - and if I don't do these problems for Vector which were due _three weeks ago,_ I am never going to pass that class..." 

"You do have ten days of holiday to finish it, you know," said Melissa. "Well, have it your way. Good luck with the problems." 

"Thanks." Beth thought of something and raised her head. "Hey, are you going to…?" 

But Melissa was already out the door. 

Sighing, Beth settled back in the sofa and unrolled her Arithmancy notes, by all appearances engrossed in the prior words of Professor Vector. When the common room had completely cleared out, however, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter that she had been hiding since it arrived at breakfast: the long lavender envelope with gold lettering and a weighty, impressive wax seal. 

Heart in her throat, she slit the envelope with the tip of her wand and pulled out the intricate purple letter within. 

_Dear Miss Parson: _

Thank you for your interest in employment with the Ministry of Magic. We are thrilled to find so many young witches and wizards not only willing to take part in their government, but to devote their lives to it as well. 

As you know, the Department of Mysteries is the cornerstone of governmental research and development. Not only is our work within the department vital to the Ministry and beneficial to wizardkind, it is also highly classified. In accordance with this secrecy we maintain a policy of regular, mandatory Obliviations for all employees. Please consider and recognize the implications of this policy before you continue to seek employment. 

While your accomplishments and recommendations are impressive, all potential applicants are required to undergo an interview at the Ministry before employment. Please reply by owl so that we may arrange for a mutually convenient date. 

Most truly yours,   
Arcanus Schrowde   
Head of the Department of Mysteries 

Beth fell back on the sofa, beaming in relief. She hadn't known what to expect from her application … but of course, an on-site interview would be standard procedure … what on earth was she going to wear? 

She sat up, frowning. Did she even _want_ the job? 

She should just throw away the letter. It was a stupid idea anyway. Who wanted to work for the Ministry these days? She would have to live in London, hours away from her father. (Accessible by Floo, she admitted to herself, but Floo powder would be expensive for a daily commute or even weekend visits home.) She knew that being an Unspeakable was a difficult job, thanks to Bode and Croaker, and she knew in the same way that it was dangerous, too ... but still, something about the danger appealed to her. She knew she was only reacting to the siren call of mystery, but that didn't change the way she was drawn to it. 

She got out her quill. 

After she had finalized her letter thanking Mr. Schrowde and requesting an interview date, she strolled up to the Owlery and picked out a hearty-looking barn owl for the trip to London. The sky was clear and blue; from the tower she could see tiny dark figures moving on and above the Quidditch pitch. She tied on her letter, let the owl out the window, and then stood watching for a few minutes, leaning against the sill, letting the wind rustle her hair. She tried never to think about how she would miss the school after graduation, but at times like these it crept up and tugged gently. 

The specks on the field began to collect and move toward the castle; the retrials must have finished. Beth hurried downstairs to meet them. She got to the common room just a few minutes before the floodgates opened and all of Slytherin house poured inside, chatting and laughing, many of them muddied or rumpled from the tryouts. Beth waited, watching the mob, until Melissa made her way through the crowd and stood in front of her, hands on her hips, looking as windswept as the rest. 

"Well?" said Beth. 

"They went well," said Melissa nonchalantly. "All the old team's still on, of course, but the alternate team's very interesting. Herne got on as alternate Beater - and Morag actually didn't do such a bad job, he's an alternate Chaser. I think he's got quite a good chance at making the team next year." 

"Good for him," said Beth impatiently, "but who got on as the new Chaser?" 

Melissa cocked her eyebrow; a little self-satisfied smirk crossed her face. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small green patch with the word CHASER embroidered in silver. 

"So much for the White Elephant Idiot Broom, eh?" 

Beth shrieked and threw her arms around her. 

-'-'-

It would have been an insult to Montague if they had celebrated the new team roster with a party; nonetheless, the mood in the common room that evening was a cheerful one. All fears of losing the Quidditch Cup in Montague's absence had been allayed. Besides, thanks to the efforts of the Inquisitorial Squad, Slytherin was now in the lead for the House Cup by some two hundred points. As icing on the cake, the first day of Easter break had been the most peaceful one for a week. All of the fireworks had finally burnt out, and no new ones were lit; apparently, the pranksters had decided to take a holiday. 

Beth had plans for the holiday too. In her knapsack she carried the tiny porcelain pig figurine, reconfigured and redelivered by Wobbly the house elf, to drop her at Eeylop's later that week. She was desperately curious how Richard was doing. It had been far too many months since she had seen him; she had not even had a letter for over six weeks. 

So much had happened, but she couldn't speak freely about any of it. She wondered whether to tell him about the banshee, the appearance of Chris at her home, Snape's double loyalties, Evan's odd project... She decided that she would wait and see. Some of it would make Richard safer, but some would only put him in even more danger. 

That Thursday of the holiday week, after several painful but productive days of study, she shut herself up in the girls' powder room and waited for the Portkey to go off. Soon enough the familiar tugging sensation began, and before she knew it she stood in the back corner of Eeylops, staring up at the arching perches of sleepy owls. 

She had no sooner turned around than a tall figure in cloak and hood stepped up to her. 

"Hood up," said Richard, in an urgent whisper. "Quickly now." 

Alarmed, Beth put up her hood and followed him through the store and out the back, into a crooked alley where the trash bins overflowed with feathers and hay. He led her through a maze of side streets; and when they finally stopped, she was amazed to find herself standing outside of Hosea's potions shop. They slipped inside. Richard greeted Hosea and led her to the back corner, where they could talk without Hosea overhearing. (Judging by the chuckle from behind the counter, Hosea must have suspected that they were withdrawing for another reason.) 

At last, Richard removed the scarf from his face. His cheeks looked more hollow than they had before; he was badly-shaven, and the eye patch which sent him images of the crypt was beginning to fray. 

"Richard," said Beth, unnerved, "what's going on? Are you all right?" 

He gave her a grin, and looked more like himself. "I'm all right. It's just been ... interesting down here." 

Beth didn't like the sound of that. "Interesting how?" 

Richard frowned. "Things are different. The Ministry is filling the streets with Aurors and anyone else they can spare. All undercover, of course... The Dark Lord is doing the same. I really can't show my face anymore. Too many people watching too closely. And..." He hesitated. 

"What?" 

"Some of the escaped Death Eaters have been in and out of my boarding house. So have a few of the people named in Potter's article. I left last month-" 

"Last _month?_ And you didn't tell me?" 

"-and I've been living in back of the shop here. Hosea's very good. He never asks questions..." Richard gazed at the floor for a moment. Then he glanced back up at her with a smile. "It's good to see you. I want to know what's going on in Hogwarts. If the rumors are true, it's as bad in there as it is out here." He paused at the sight of her silver badge. "I say, Beth, what does 'I' stand for?" 

Beth let out a deep groan. "'Inquisitorial Squad'. Umbridge cooked up this - this junior police force, or something, it's like a private guard - we can take house points, we spy on the Gobstones club, we read peoples' mail ... and I, um, volunteered," she finished, trailing off. 

Richard regarded her curiously. "That was a clever thing to do." 

"I thought so too at the time," Beth sighed. "The woman is mad. If there wasn't already a Dark Lord, she'd be it." 

Richard cocked a tired smile. "I think the position's already taken." 

The bell in the shop door tinkled. 

Both of them drew back into the shadows, Richard craning his neck to see who had entered. Beth caught a glimpse of a small, hooded figure before Richard grabbed her and pulled her behind a display rack of powdered herbs, almost suffocating her against his chest. 

"What?" Beth hissed, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Who is it?" 

"It's my _mother._" 

Beth struggled free and peeked around the display. The figure looked from side to side before lowering its hood, to reveal the frail face of Mrs. Shaw. Blind Hosea met her at the counter with a polite smile. 

"How can I help ye, then?" 

The gentleness and dignity of her voice were more noticeable, here in the shadows of Knockturn Alley. "Two doses of Lethe Elixir, please." 

Beth had to stifle a gasp. The most powerful forgetfulness potion in existence - it could wipe a mind as cleanly as the Dementor's Kiss. What on earth would she want with it...? She felt Richard reach out suddenly and grab her hand. 

Hosea merely nodded obligingly, as if she had requested no more than a glass of water. "Will it be person or event now, that you're wanting to forget?" 

"Person," said Mrs. Shaw. 

"Aha." Hosea laid a gnarled finger to the side of his nose. "It'll be a man, then." 

Mrs. Shaw's voice wavered slightly. "Not quite." 

Hosea shrugged elaborately. "Not my business to know," he said. "On'y place a hair of the person you'll be wanting to forget in the potion an' let it set for a week. Ye'll not remember a thing." 

"I've kept a lock of hair," said Mrs. Shaw. 

The hand that held Beth's began to shake. She looked up at Richard quickly. His eyes were white-rimmed, his mouth slightly open... 

The blind shopkeeper turned and unerringly plucked a small vial from a shelf on the back wall. He uncorked it, took a sniff and nodded satisfactorily before turning back around and placing it on the counter between himself and Richard's mother. "Let's say an even eighty Galleons, mum." 

"Of course," said Mrs. Shaw quietly. She counted out eighty gold coins, placed them in a small sack and pushed it across the counter into Blind Hosea's waiting hand. At the feel of the leather the shopkeeper smiled and nodded. 

"Much thanks, mum, I'll trust yer not to shortchange a poor blind bloke like meself." Beth couldn't help but notice that his fingers moved deftly over the surface of the sack nonetheless. He leaned over the counter. "Bit of advice, mum, don't mind me sayin'. Leave yersel' a note sayin' that you took the potion an' there's somethin' you want to forget. Else, you'll not know why you've lost your memory. There's a scary thing." He straightened and began to sort the money into his dilapidated register. 

"Thank you," said Mrs. Shaw, putting the vial into a pocket of her robes. Her voice was faint but resolute. She turned and left the shop. 

Beth stared at her. "She can't-" Without another word, she left behind a stunned and silent Richard and tore out of the shop. 

The small cloaked figure made its way down the alley, dwarfed by the looming stone buildings. Beth dashed after her recklessly. "Wait!" She cast out a hand and grabbed the woman by the shoulder. 

Mrs. Shaw whirled toward her, wand up defensively. Her hood flapped backward. The kind, clear eyes widened in disbelief. 

"Elizabeth - what ever are you doing down here?" 

"Mrs. Shaw," said Beth in a rush, "I saw you buy the Lethe elixir. Please - don't use it -" 

Richard's mother stiffened. "Elizabeth, this is my own affair." 

"No it's not!" Beth's cheeks flushed red. "It's his - I mean, it's unfair to his memory -" 

"Memory is all that's left," said Mrs. Shaw quietly. 

"That's why it's so important! How can you just pretend that he never existed? How can you - just _erase_ him?" Beth's face was flaming now; her hands gestured ineffectively in the empty air. "Your _son_-" 

"Elizabeth." 

"Your only _son_-!" 

"Elizabeth!" 

The world was suddenly silent. 

"My son is gone." Her voice shook imperceptibly. "Would you have me suffer needlessly for the rest of my life?" 

Beth was still. 

Mrs. Shaw reached up and pulled her hood over her head again. "Good day, Elizabeth." She turned and walked sedately out of Knockturn Alley. 

Beth stood and watched as the shadows fell over Mrs. Shaw's dark cloak to finally absorb her into the dark places on the street. Quietly she turned and went back into the potion shop. 

Richard hovered near the doorway, very white in the face. Beth took a deep breath. "She..." 

She couldn't finish. 

Richard nodded shakily. "I knew..." Suddenly he heaved a deep sob and hugged Beth tight to his chest. She felt warm tears trickle onto her hair and run down her neck. She kept quite still, letting him hold her, feeling the rise and fall of his chest until it slowed and subsided. They both knew that she was all he had left to hold. 

-'-'-

Even after the first horrible shock of being disowned had worn off, Richard remained pale and shaken throughout the day. They talked of the Society and the Guild, Dumbledore and Umbridge, the Dark Lord and his followers ... but his voice was hollower, empty of enthusiasm. Beth didn't want to leave him, but, as he pointed out in a voice of unconvincing bravado, "They'll miss you at school, and I have work to do." 

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked softly. 

He gazed back at her with tired eyes. "What choice do I have?" 

She left him standing in the doorway of Hosea's potions shop, watching her with a patch over one eye and the other, hollow and haunted in a drawn face. 

From the mouth of Diagon Alley she Apparated to Hogsmeade, as usual, and began the long trek back to the castle. The thought of Richard's loss hung in her stomach like a ball of lead. As stunned and hurt as she was by his pain, thoughts of her own kept rising in her head - losing Lycaeon to a second term in Azkaban, seeing her father in the hospital bed, hearing the dreadful song of the banshee. 

She had lost her family before, and drew strength from her experience. Richard had no such history. 

_"I can always go back, you know,"_ he had told her, months before. _"When it's over. When it's safe."_

She had always known that Richard was willing to sacrifice for the Society, perhaps even to die; but standing here alone at the castle gate, she thought that he had made the biggest miscalculation of his life. 

-'-'-

Beth dared not tell Melissa what she had seen in Knockturn Alley; it seemed too private to reveal. Instead she described their conversation, everything he had told her about the "interesting things" going on in the streets of London, and how he had been more furtive - even to the point of leaving his "safe" apartment. The more Beth thought about it, the more worried she became. She was sure he hadn't told her the extent of the danger he had faced. Reading between the lines, he sounded more at risk every day. It made her sick to think of what might happen; so she kept her worries to herself, and threw herself headlong into her schoolwork. It was all she could do. 

With the end of Easter break, April closing out and the end of term in threatening, tantalizing reach, her workloads in every area were redoubled. Snape's Potions classes got trickier, and so did the grading of them; the Inquisitorial Squad worked double-time to catch up on weeks-overdue mail screening; N.E.W.T.s practices became harder and harder until the seventh-years were convinced that the real thing would be a relief. Inevitably, the teachers seemed to realize in unison how far behind they were in their course schedules. Even Professor Binns seemed to be droning out lectures a little faster than usual. 

Ironically, the only class that still moved at a bearable pace was Care of Magical Creatures. Much like he had during fifth year, while being prosecuted for the hippogriff mauling, Hagrid had reverted to more peaceful creatures; which, while he clearly found them boring, were greatly preferable to the usual deadly fare. For the past week they had been studying the Moke, a silvery-green lizard with the ability to shrink. Beth thought they were adorable, and they all had a wonderful time frightening them to make them shrink and then watching them slowly reinflate, only to do it again when they had reached full size. 

"It can't be good for them, doing that all the time," Melissa chided, as they strolled in to dinner. 

"Hagrid said they don't mind," Beth said. "It's like practice for them anyway." 

"I think they enjoy it," said Mervin defensively. 

"How can you tell?" Melissa shot back. "It's not as if they have facial expressions." 

"I ought to know by now when a reptile's looking happy!" said Mervin hotly, as they climbed the steps to the entrance hall. "When Gina was having a good time, she always-" 

Before he could finish, a wave of noise hit them from inside the castle - a roaring ruckus, a handful of shrieks, shouting and the clamor of scores of footsteps from somewhere not too far above them. 

"It's finally happened. We're done for," said Mervin, pale-faced, and turned to go back outside. 

Melissa grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back in. "Come on, we have to find out what's going on!" 

They were halfway up the stairs when Jeanne Thwaite dashed past, her face red from exertion. She skidded to a halt and nearly tripped on the stairs. "Beth - Umbridge is mobilizing the Squad," she barked up the staircase. "We've gotta catch the Weasley twins - I almost had 'em but I swear they vanished into the bloody _wall_-" 

"Where was that?" Beth called back. 

"Fourth floor. Only be careful of the - _oof_-" A crowd of student swept down the staircase and nearly threw Jeanne to the ground. 

Beth shucked off her knapsack and handed it to Melissa. "See you back in the common room," she told the two, and darted upstairs. 

She rounded the corner at the landing and went on to the third floor, taking the steps two by two. If the Weasleys had vanished on the fourth floor then maybe they knew a secret passage down to the third, or had simply ducked out of sight and dashed downstairs, or even blasted a hole in the floor and leapt through, for all Beth knew. She thought the third floor was a good place to look. Everyone was running from it, so it sounded like a good place to hide ... in fact, as she stepped onto the landing and dashed down the corridors, the hallway was entirely empty. 

She skidded around a corner and ran straight into four feet of muddy water. 

The splash was terrific. Beth felt her sneakers touch bottom and she stood up, neck deep, and pulled her hair away from her face so she could see what had happened. 

Before her stretched an entire corridor of bona fide swampland. Lily pads drifted around where the tile on the floor used to be. One or two of the portraits on the wall pointed down at her, snickering; those nearer to the ground had abandoned their frames for fear of being splashed. Cattails framed the suits of armor like a thicket of spears. 

Beth watched a lily pad drift past, bearing a happy-looking green toad. With a great, guttural _ribbit_, it leapt from its vehicle and landed on top of her head. 

The portraits roared with laughter. Beth grabbed the toad and hurled it down the hall, where it disappeared with a merry _plunk_. Clutching fistfuls of robe in both hands, she slogged back up the bank to dry land, where the swamp trailed off into ordinary corridor. Tadpoles and minnows flip-flopped off of her clothing and shimmied back into the murky water. Long strands of algae dripped from her shoulders. 

"_Scourgify_," said Beth through her teeth. A warm wind blasted up from beneath her and whisked away most of the mud on her face and clothes. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then, fists clenched, she took off down the hall in another direction. Before, she had been acting under orders. Now it was personal. 

She thought she saw a tapestry shift far down the hall, and bolted toward it - but no, the wall was blank behind the woven hanging. She paused a moment to catch her breath, hands on her hips. _Where would I hide if I thought a dozen people were out to kill me?_

Shouts and laughter from below cut off her thoughts. Without a pause, Beth turned and sped back down the stairs. The Weasely twins weren't hiding. They were running. 

Downstairs the halls were packed with bustling, chattering, excited students. Beth elbowed her way through the mob, for once grateful of her height, and caught sight of Warrington doing the same a few yards away. "Seen them?" she hollered, over the din. 

"Great Hall," Warrington boomed. His powerful voice almost shook the rafters. Not wanting to miss any of the action, the onlooking horde turned as one and began to stream for the Great Hall. 

Beth struggled against the mass of people until she broke into the wide, empty dining hall. The long tables were set for dinner but utterly empty (who could think of food at a time like this?) although the mob was beginning to leak into the empty spaces, heads turning excitedly, trying to catch a glimpse of the chase. 

Beth saw a sneaker-clad foot disappear beneath the Hufflepuff table. 

"Ha!" Beth's cry of victory came halfway to the ground as she threw herself onto her stomach and crawled under the table. Far at the other end she could make out a dark shape, moving quickly away from her. She fumbled in her still-damp robes for a wand. Where had she put it-? She raised her head slightly and crashed into the underside of the table. Gripping her head, she cracked her eyes open just enough to see the twins scuttle out from under the table and take off. 

Beth slid under the bench and leapt to her feet amid the mob, now joyfully following a visible pair of red heads out the door and into the entrance hall. She vaulted between them, taking no care of who she shoved out of her way. If the twins got to the entrance hall they would have their choice of escape routes - if no one saw which way they went, the Inquisitorial Squad could dash around the school all night without finding them. Beth, for one, had had enough running for that day. She fought to the forefront of the crowd. 

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" 

For the second time, Warrington's voice came booming over the riot. Beth broke through the wall of people to see the twins skid to a halt in front of the Hufflepuff corridor, where Warrington loomed. They turned on their heels and sprinted across the room - only to find Vincent Crabbe and Jeanne Thwaite blocking the way to the Ravenclaw tower. Spinning nimbly toward the Gryffindor tower - Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Beth hurled across the room in time to join Gregory Goyle as a human fence in front of the staircase to the dungeons. 

The twins retreated to the center of the room, back to back, shifting on their feet as if ready to make a break for it if the slightest hole showed in the ring of students, teachers, and ghosts fencing them in. 

"So!" 

Professor Umbridge had joined them; from the staircase she could have been an empress calling out death sentences from her balcony. "So ... you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?" 

"Pretty amusing, yeah," admitted one. 

Beth gritted her teeth and hoped Filch had gotten his thumb-chain decree passed. 

Indeed, Filch was fighting towards Umbridge with a paper in his hand. "I've got the form, Headmistress," he almost cried. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting... Oh, let me do it now..." 

"Very good, Argus." She turned a majestic and merciless face toward the twins, alone in the center of the hall. "You two are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school." 

It was a lesson too long foregone. The Weasley twins were in the hottest water they had ever been in - defenseless, red-handed and completely surrounded. 

Then why were they smiling? 

"You know what?" said one of them. "I don't think we are." 

Professor Umbridge's grin slipped a little. 

He turned to his brother, almost theatrically. "George, I think we've outgrown full-time education." 

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself." 

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" 

"Definitely." 

With the careless synchronization of a vaudeville act, they raised their wands together and shouted, "_Accio Brooms!_" 

There was a terrible groaning sound and a loud snap, far off down the hallway - then a pair of broomsticks came rocketing through the halls, one dragging a chain behind it, and came to a screeching halt before the twins, swift and obedient as greyhounds. 

"We won't be seeing you," said one cockily, leaping onto his broomstick. 

His brother followed suit. "Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch." 

Both astride, they turned to address the onlookers directly, for the first time. 

"If anyone fancies a Portable Swamp," said one loudly, gesturing toward the staircase, "as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley - Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Our new premises!" 

The other leveled a finger at Umbridge, who stood motionless in shock. "Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat." 

Professor Umbridge recovered her voice. "STOP THEM!" Fists clenched, Beth and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad started forward with every intention of doing so - but they had gotten no more than a few feet closer when both twins shot into the air, bobbing near the ceiling. Beth ducked as the end of the iron chain came careening toward her head. They made a slow turn in the air and faced Peeves the Poltergeist, hovering gleefully over the crowd. 

"Give her hell from us, Peeves." 

Peeves snapped to attention with a salute. The hall burst into applause. Before the eyes of the entire school, Fred and George Weasley turned and zoomed out of the Great Hall into the dying rays of the sun. 

Beth Parson, clothes streaked with mud, swamp water dripping from the hem of her robes and pooling around her shoes, stood in the entrance hall and watched them disappear until they were barely specks of black against the sunset. Through the commotion that exploded around her, all she could think about was how much easier life would have been, had the Weasley twins done this very thing seven years earlier. 

-'-'-

After a term full of bizarre schoolwide events, Beth would have thought that the Weasleys' exit was just one more episode; but it was all that anyone spoke about for days afterward. Like most tales around Hogwarts, it was stretched in the telling until even people on the scene were certain they had glimpsed Dumbledore in the crowd, laughing as the twins zoomed away. 

Lee Jordan obtained a ridiculous level of celebrity, in his capacity as the best friend left behind - "the last Weasley twin," Beth heard one of the teachers calling him fondly. To hear him tell it, he had been integral to the escape plan and had done most of the swamp himself. Beth had been in class with him for seven years and knew better, but she was willing to believe him when he took credit for importing the toads. What everyone wanted to know (after reminiscing with him about the fabulous event) was when Jordan was going to pull the same thing. 

"Wish I could," said Jordan, dreadlocks bobbing with Rastafarian calm. "Got a thing lined up with the W.W.N. Five years announcing Quidditch looked all right on my résumé, but I've got to get the Charms N.E.W.T. at least. Station policy." 

Beth and her classmates resolved to start looking for a new radio station. 

Less than a week after that, Beth noticed yet another strange doing: a grown man and woman, stalking through the corridors of Hogwarts in the direction of Dumbledore's office. She mentioned them at dinner that night. 

"It's the Montagues," said Melissa. "You remember, don't you? They were at my dinner party two years ago." 

Beth had greeted dozens of wizard couples at the dinner party, and she couldn't remember a single one of them. 

"Sure." 

Melissa sized her up, then shook her head. "Well, whatever. They were there. I suppose they've come to see how Montague is doing, because they went straight off to the infirmary. They looked quite upset." 

"No surprise there," said Bruce. "He's been like that for three weeks. If I were them I'd be furious." 

"And scared," Melissa added, in an uncharacteristically small voice. 

Bruce's face softened. "That too." He poked at his food. Then he gathered his things. "I should go talk to them." 

"What?" Melissa raised her head, brows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Why?" 

"I dunno," said Bruce, shrugging. He stood up from the table. "Just to, I don't know, offer condolences from the team, or something. It just seems like I ought to." 

He hitched his backpack onto his shoulder and strode out of the Great Hall. 

Melissa watched him go. "Just when I think I understand him..." she sighed. 

"He's been acting weird since Sally started here," Beth noted. 

Melissa raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Implying that he was never weird before that?" 

"Point taken." Beth grinned. "How did we get mixed up with all these crazy people?" 

"Birds of a feather..." Melissa winked. 

By the time they left the Great Hall it was nearly empty. They strolled down to the common room cheerfully, chatting over the remarkable people they had known and the incredible things they had done. Really, Beth thought, despite it all, it had been a great seven years. 

"And the next seven are going to be just as good," said Melissa resolutely, climbing through the door of the common room. "We're going to solve all this business with You-Know-Who and get on with our lives. I for one intend..." She broke off with an impatient huff. "What on _earth_ is going on over there?" 

A cluster of first- and second-years was crowded around the fireplace, shoving for a good view of something hidden by their backs. Melissa started towards them, calling out, "Go along, go study or something - it's just the fireplace, for heaven's -" 

She broke off abruptly as she reached the crowd. "Everyone leave," she said suddenly, harshly. The students scattered. Melissa turned around, her face set. "Warrington," she barked. "Come here." 

He started towards her; and Beth saw the crumpled figure lying behind her feet. 

It was Evan Wilkes. 

-'-'-

Madam Pomfrey's face drained pale at the sight of him. 

"What has happened to this boy?" she whispered, as Warrington laid him out clumsily on an empty cot. Evan's arm flopped over the edge heedlessly. His whole body was limp, lifeless ... but it was the look of his skin that made Beth gasp in horror. 

He was pale as a corpse, his skin gray and nearly translucent. His hands and face were covered with huge splotches of black that roamed up and around his body: living birthmarks, slithering restlessly just under his skin. Beth shuddered at the sight of them, feeling her own skin crawl. 

Melissa held out a large glass beaker, half-full of something that looked like tar. "It was by the chair," she told Madam Pomfrey, who took it carefully from her. "So was this." 

She handed over a thick scroll of parchment. 

Madam Pomfrey unrolled it quickly and read the top of it, wide-eyed. "Alchemy III, Final Project," she read, in a tone of disbelief. She put aside the scroll and bent over to peer into Evan's eyes, peeling each eyelid back and gazing into his deadened pupils. "Oh Wilkes, what've you done to yourself?" 

"Shall I fetch Professor Snape?" said Melissa. She looked terrified, but Beth could read in her eyes an indubitable excitement at being part of the action. 

"That will not be necessary." 

The cold voice swept into the room. Warrington stood back as the Potions Master stalked into the infirmary. 

"The first-years informed me," he said without preface, striding to the side of Evan's bed. Unhesitatingly, he lifted Evan's left arm and pulled back his sleeve to the elbow. 

"Wait -" Beth said involuntarily. If he saw the Dark Mark... 

"Yes?" said Professor Snape, not turning toward her. 

Beth stared at the creamy white of Evan's inner forearm. The Dark Mark was gone - but in its place were half a dozen of the slithering black patches, wandering up and down his arms. 

"Never mind," Beth stammered. 

Snape checked Evan's other arm and then reached over for the scroll. He scanned it with narrowed eyes; Beth thought she heard him mutter, "Proteus..." Finally he let it roll back up with a snap. 

"Madam Pomfrey, I will personally analyze this potion of Wilkes's and develop an antidote." Snape whisked up the half-filled beaker and Banished the scroll back to his office. "I would be much obliged if you would keep him alive until then." He turned back to the doorway. "Ollivander, please alert the headmaster. You two - back to your dormitories. Parson -" 

Beth, who had been on her way out, stopped and turned back around. 

"Take this to the dungeons and begin an analysis to compare the contents to the recipe. We must rule out the possibility that this potion has been misbrewed. I will continue to examine the results and will join you shortly." Misreading her hesitation, he snapped, "You may forego your ordinary workload for the moment." 

"Right," said Beth quickly, taking the flask of gooey black potion. She turned and hurried down to the dungeons. 

-'-'-

Dungeon Six still bore the remnants of the previous day's work (fourth-year Wit-Sharpening Potion, which regrettably could only be used _after_ it was brewed). Beth swept it aside carelessly. 

She brought out a rack of test tubes and started measuring out dollops of potion. One sample to test for brewing time, one to test for water content, one for moon exposure, one for stirring method, one for each ingredient... 

She paused. She'd need the ingredients list. Snape still had that. Hastily she started the first few analyses and corked them off, stuck one vial in the centrifuge and set it spinning with her wand, and put another one under the moon ray. That begun, she wiped her hands and went into the hall. 

Snape's office door was open - a rarity. "Professor Snape?" No response. She poked her head inside. 

The office was empty. Beth edged inside, expecting Snape to leap out at any moment and yell at her for intruding. Or ... she remembered suddenly that he was a Death Eater too. Or something much worse. 

There! Evan's recipe lay on the edge of the desk. She darted inside, snatched up the scroll, and dashed back to the laboratory. 

Snape would expect her to take it, she argued to herself. How could she do her job without knowing the ingredients? She went to her work bench and rolled out the scroll. The title stopped her dead. 

FOR THE REMOVAL OF THE DARK MARK   
Alchemy III Final Project by Evan Wilkes

Beth stared at the parchment. So this was it - the undertaking that Professor Snape had called "very foolish, and very likely impossible." No wonder Evan had kept it under wraps all year, even while hinting to Beth that she wouldn't want to stop him from working on it. But for all his secrecy, and all the times she had caught him working on it, Evan had failed ... with terrible results. 

But if he had succeeded... 

Grimly, Beth propped open the scroll and started preparing the tests. He had taken the risk for both of them. The least she could do was try to cure him of his own failure. 


	27. The Serpent and the Badger

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Serpent and the Badger**

Now two Slytherins were out of commission in the hospital wing. The Inquisitorial Squad had been in and out since its inception, from a range of jinxes which had been cast with varying degrees of success. Beth herself, perhaps the luckiest of the lot, only suffered two or three badly-done Leg-Locker Curses and a case of the boils (worth twenty points and detention to the perpetrator). They all made sure to put on their Hex Screen every day.

In general the Inquisitorial Squad was left to their own devices - good news to Beth, although it bode ill for the rest of the school. Early in May, however, the dictatress called her Squad into her office for a specific assignation of duty.

"The upcoming Quidditch match shall leave us shorthanded," she said, seated placidly behind her desk with rows of kitten plates as a backdrop. "I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Warrington, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle," she added, nodding to each in turn. Her expression darkened. "The student body will be aware of this weakness. They may try to exploit it. I want every one of you to attend the game and spread out among the stands in order to quell any ... unfortunate happenings. I will issue special notes of permission for you to be seated outside of your house."

She fixed them with a look that might have come from Mad-Eye Moody.

"We must all be cautious. There are those who wish to unseat us. I have utter faith in you and your ability..."

She plucked a dried flower from one of the vases on her desk; then, with a harsh clenching of the fist, crushed it to dust.

"...to quench it."

Consequently Beth found herself less excited than usual about the upcoming game against Hufflepuff. Mervin offered to come sit with her, but Beth declined; she didn't know whether Umbridge's "special notes of permission" extended to guests, and was afraid to do anything that would attract the Headmistress's attention. She might have made an exception for Melissa, but of course her best friend was going to be occupying a very different place on the Quidditch pitch.

"I can't believe it," said Melissa, on the morning of the game, staring down at her plate without eating a bite. "I never thought I'd really get a chance to play. Especially not with Montague-" She broke off as if unwilling to criticize the unlucky boy, and raised her eyes to Beth, a little pale-faced. "I'm going to be wretched."

"Don't be crazy," said Beth, grinning, "you'll be fabulous. Anyone who can work a dinner party like you should have no problem with a few Bludgers and a screaming audience."

"You're right," sighed Melissa, still not moving to eat anything. "And I _did_ get all those O.W.L.s. Really this ought to be a piece of cake." She pounded her open hand onto the table suddenly. "Then why am I so _nervous?_"

"Don't ask me," said Beth, taking a sip of her tea. "It's just Hufflepuff."

Melissa was surprised into laughter. "Of course!" she cried, putting a palm to her forehead. "What was I worried about?"

"Game time, Mel," came Bruce's voice behind them. He cast Melissa a wink as she got to her feet. "I've closed off part of the locker room for you. We never had to worry about co-ed changing rooms before."

"Go get 'em," said Beth, patting her shoulder. Visibly calmer, Melissa joined the rest of the team heading out toward the pitch; and despite that she had the shortest build and longest hair of all of them, she really looked like she belonged.

Rather than finishing breakfast alone, Beth moved down the table to eat with Jeanne, the statuesque brunette. The two of them had been taking the same mail-reading shift, and Beth was delighted to find that they got along very well. She had not been expecting to make a new friend this close to the end of her Hogwarts career.

"Where's Umbridge assigned you?" she asked, munching her waffle.

"Gryffindor," said Jeanne, her shoulders drooping in disappointment. "At least I won't be alone, she's got half the Squad watching the blighters. You?"

"Ravenclaw."

"Lucky," Jeanne grumbled. "They won't bother you."

That was what Beth was counting on. "I know a couple of them from class," she said. "It might actually be fun."

Jeanne shrugged. "I guess. It _is_ Quidditch."

They joined the crowd heading to the pitch, breaking apart as the four houses divided into their segregated seating. Just before Beth mounted the stands, she heard a cheery masculine voice above the crowd:

"Oy! Beth!"

Beth turned around. At the outskirts of the pitch stood Dave Gudgeon, wearing an old Slytherin scarf and waving one arm energetically.

Delighted, Beth let the rest of the crowd pass and made her way over to him. "Dave! Come for the game?"

"Not the game," Dave beamed. "Gosh, it's good to see you."

His joy at seeing her was so enthusiastic that it bordered on relief. It was a strange thing to hear from cool, jaunty Dave Gudgeon. Beth stood back and looked him over. His left eye, scarred from a centaur's hoof, was hidden behind an eye patch. Besides the worn canvas knapsack looped over the shoulder of his traveling cloak, there was a canteen at his side.

She started to wonder...

"What light through yonder window breaks?" Dave wondered, watching her closely, with a smug kind of grin. "It is the east..."

Beth had heard that line before. "Romeo and Juliet," she said, blushing slightly. "Although why you're quoting it now, I don't-"

She stopped dead and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Dave beamed at her.

"You _jerk,_" she said forcefully, shoving him in the chest. "You really had me going there."

"Ow." The man rubbed his chest. "Good. It's not supposed to be obvious."

Beth put her hands on her hips. "Did you actually make the Polyjuice Potion yourself?"

Dave - or, to be accurate, Richard - shook his head ruefully. "Hosea keeps stocked with a Polyjuice starter. I couldn't brew a pot of chicken soup."

They started moving towards the stands. "Employee discount, I suppose," Beth guessed.

Richard gave a short laugh. "Hosea? You've got to be kidding. I'm just lucky he didn't raise the price for the honor of meeting the brewer."

She led him up to the very top of the Ravenclaw bleachers, where they found part of a row unoccupied; they would be far enough from the crowd to be able to talk. Richard took a swig from his canteen as they settled in. He made a face.

"I forgot how bad this stuff was."

"Good thing you remembered how well it works," Beth pointed out. Watching him, seeing Richard's tics and habits replicated in Dave's body, she recalled the last time she had seen him: haggard and stunned in Hosea's potions shop. "How are you doing?"

The scarred face clouded. "You mean, have I gotten over my mother erasing my life?"

Beth bit her lip. "Guess you wouldn't."

"No." Richard watched the players circling far above the Quidditch pitch. "But I know why she did it. Why they did it. I guess ... I was always kind of a disappointment, anyway, and after I – well once I was gone, what's the point?"

Beth stared at him, but he didn't turn to look at her. "She said she didn't want to feel the pain of losing you forever. I saw her at the funeral, she looked so ... hurt..."

"Stop," said Richard. His voice was calm but very hard.

Beth closed her mouth, frowning involuntarily, and looked down at the bleachers between her feet. She didn't know what to say to Richard, she felt hopelessly tongue-tied, but still she felt that something should be said about his parents' reaction to his "death." She wanted to tell him how sick the thought of it made her feel. She wanted to describe his mother's face when she told her that her boy was gone. But nothing came; all she could offer was her silence, and her presence.

"Talk about something," Richard ordered, voice oddly dull. "Tell me about classes, tell me about N.E.W.T.s. Has Audra told you anything lately? How's Evan's project coming along?"

Beth looked up. "How did you know about Evan's project?" she asked slowly.

Dave's face sank into Richard's expression of worry. "What happened?"

Shuddering at the thought, Beth described the intent and horrible results of Evan's Alchemy project. As she talked, Richard's face grew pale under Dave's tan; his shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

"I knew it was a long shot," he murmured, "but I should have never..."

"Wait," said Beth, her voice rising in disbelief, "you should have never _what?_"

"Let him do it," Richard finished, with a frown. "Evan told me what he was planning before the school year began. He needed an ingredient that he knew I could get. I think he also wanted someone else to know what he was doing ... in case something like this happened." He raised his hands and let them fall back in defeat.

"It was you that gave him that diamond," Beth said, as things fell into place in her mind.

"My family has a jewel business, remember? I just nicked it from the safe and dropped some gold in the till." He frowned again, his mouth twitching angrily as if chewing something unpleasant. "I thought he had a chance."

"You should have told me. All year I was worried that he was up to some kind of Dark magic..."

Richard shrugged. "I didn't want to get your hopes up without a reason. And honestly-" He looked a little bashful. "I was afraid you would want to help him. If the Dark Lord found out before you finished…. Evan can risk his own life," he finished bluntly, "but I wouldn't let him risk yours."

"I can't believe you would invest that much in Evan's potion," Beth said, still amazed.

"Beth, I would give a thousand diamonds to get that thing off your arm." His voice was fierce suddenly, ferocious. "I would have given my own blood if he'd asked."

It would have been very sweet, if it hadn't been so frightening.

"You know what I'm worried about?" said Beth. She stared out at the Quidditch pitch without really seeing the players. "All this that the Dark Lord's doing - so far, so little of it has to do with us. With the Society. Even if we do manage to get out from under him, I guess I'm afraid that it won't hurt him at all."

"Oh," said Richard, smiling so that the scar on Dave's eye scrunched up. "I don't care about that."

Beth paused and looked back over at him. "Then why are we going through all this?"

"The same reason Evan was willing to risk an untried potion," said Richard.

Beth met his eyes. "Freedom."

Richard nodded. Then, without warning, he turned his head and his eye grew unfocused, even while his expression tightened.

"Are you all right?" said Beth, alarmed.

"Hush." Richard's voice was vague. "Someone's in the crypt."

The simple, profound statement sent a chill through her veins. "Who is it?"

"Can't tell." Richard squinted as if watching a far-off television screen. "Medium height. Thin. Dark cloak - hood's up, I can't see the face - they're going for the younger side of the wall."

Beth wished she could share the eye patch. She looked down at the bleachers instead.

"They're trying different people ... oh, I say. They're trying to see me."

"You?" Beth's head jerked up.

"I wouldn't be worried," said Richard, still only half paying attention. "People do it all the time. All you get is an old picture of my face. Ha!" he said suddenly, turning to Beth with a grin. "They tried to see into Hogwarts."

Beth winced at the memory. "Bet that hurt him."

"It did," Richard agreed. "He's holding his head ... hold up. It's Riggs."

A scowl darkened Beth's face. "What's he trying to do?"

"He's leaving." Richard waited for a moment, then sat back in the bleachers. "He's gone."

The Quidditch game was by now in full swing. Beth stared out at the players, zooming back and forth. She knew that Riggs was clever, she knew that he had been watching the Hogwarts students closely from Hogsmeade, she knew he was working for the Dark Lord, and she was certain he intended serious harm. Beside her, Richard leaned back against the bleachers in frustration.

"I just wish we would make some headway on the rings," he said through his teeth. "All year we've been trying and trying to come up with a way to get the rings off, render them useless for spying, diminish their strength, _something_." He ran his hands through his hair, a trademark Rich move that looked strange for Dave. "Riddle made them too powerful for that. And all the rest of us kept it up too well."

That, of course, was the problem. The rings controlled their lives; the ability to view members, which Beth had once considered kind of cool, was the most dangerous and intrusive element of the whole mess. They would never be free until they had their privacy.

But there were _two_ elements in that invasion of privacy...

"Rich," said Beth suddenly, "what about the crypt?"

Richard raised his head. "We thought of that," he said gloomily. "I spoke with one of the fellows who made it. That thing's hexed into next Tuesday. You couldn't cast a spell on it from point-blank range."

They both sank back into glum thought.

"But," said Richard.

His eye had lit up. Beth glanced over at the note in his voice; he stared off into the distance again, but this time there was an excited grin tugging at his face. "The crypt was bought and paid for and built just like a Muggle would have done. It's been enchanted every which way. But the blocks - the _blocks_ -"

"It's just sandstone," said Beth, realizing what he meant. The solution was so _clear,_ so utterly simple that Beth was amazed no one had thought of it. The sepulcher was a structure of ordinary and natural origins. It could only be destroyed in an ordinary, natural way.

They looked in each others' eyes and saw the same solution.

"We need to blow it up."

Now the expression on Dave's face was so clearly Richard's that he might not have been wearing Polyjuice at all. That excited pride in a good idea, that enthusiasm, shone boldly on the scarred face.

"I'll get some - what is it the Muggles use? Dynamints?"

"Dynamite," Beth corrected, hiding a smile.

"And we'll rig up the whole thing - we'll blow it sky-high. We'll have to have a diversion, be sure the Dark Lord won't stop by while we're setting things up - I can call enough of us for guards and I'll have to read up on how to do it, I wonder if the Library of Gramarye has anything, I'm sure we can afford it - I've got a fair pot and I know some alumni will kick in-"

Beth stopped him. "You can't just go to a Muggle shop and pick up some bombs, Rich. There are background checks and things - and I don't even know where to get them, or even steal them from. It's not exactly something every chemist keeps on the shelf."

"But a wizarding shop wouldn't carry them," said Richard, frowning. "Where do you get a bomb?"

"You _don't,_ that's what I'm trying to..." Beth trailed off. A strange but plausible idea had just crept into her head. What were bombs, after all, but really big firecrackers?

Richard regarded her warily. "I think you just had an idea."

"I think so too." Beth's mind churned. "Remember what I told you happened the day after Dumbledore left?"

Richard's brow creased. "Sure, the Weasley twins set off a whole crate of-" He broke off, jaw dropping. "Where did they get them?" he asked slowly.

"They made them themselves," said Beth, leaning forward with her eyes alight. "And they just opened shop in Diagon Alley. I think they're mad enough to do it for us..."

"But noble enough not to turn us in," said Richard, thinking hard. "They're in Diagon Alley? That's just a few blocks away from Hosea's shop. I'll stop and order-"

"They'll recognize you."

"I'll wear the Polyjuice potion."

"I don't know if they'll sell to someone they don't know," said Beth, chewing thoughtfully on her nails. "They're not _that_ evil. I'll tell you what," she decided. "I've got a job interview at the Department of Mysteries in a few weeks. I'll just stop by after that."

Richard froze suddenly. "You want a job in there?" he said sharply. "Don't you know what happened to Bode?"

"I thought it would be useful," Beth said defensively.

"Joining Umbridge is one thing," said Richard, shaking his head. "But..." He paused and started again. "I thought Bode was targeted because he stood up to Nott at that first meeting, way back in July. Now some of the members are thinking that he was killed because he was an Unspeakable. Beth, you're throwing yourself into danger."

Beth glanced Richard over, with his eye patch and Polyjuice disguise and intentions to study explosives, and raised her eyebrow meaningfully.

"That's different!" said Richard forcibly. "I don't want you risking your life-"

"We're all in this, Rich," she snapped. "You're not the only one who gets to do something stupid for the cause."

Richard opened his mouth and then closed it again; it had been a good comeback in more than one way. Instead he leaned back and took a swig of Polyjuice Potion, grimacing as it went down. "I don't want anything to happen to you," he said, gazing out over the pitch.

"Rich, don't _worry,_" she insisted, putting a hand on his knee. "I'm not going to sign my soul away until I see what it's all about. I don't have to decide until weeks after the interview. They might not even want me."

Richard sighed. "Here's hoping." He put his hand on hers. "Just don't do anything without warning me, all right?"

Beth sat back in the bleachers and leaned her head against his shoulder. From that position, where she could see him only peripherally, it was easier to pretend that he wore his own face and not Dave Gudgeon's.

"I won't."

By then the game was in full swing; Slytherin was up fifty to ten, Hufflepuff having slipped one goal past Bruce with some fancy passing. The point spread was not for lack of trying by the Hufflepuff Chasers; time and again they took possession of the Quaffle, only to have it struck from their hands by a Bludger from Crabbe or Goyle. The pair of Beaters were at the top of their game. They weren't smart and they weren't fast, but the two of them could be intensely focused.

Beth wished she had been paying closer attention: she didn't know whether any of those goals had been Melissa's.

Madam Hooch's whistle cut across the field: Vincent Crabbe had attempted to beat the Quaffle directly from the Hufflepuff Chaser's hands with his bat. The stands erupted in protest; Crabbe declared his own innocence while Jordan shouted over the microphone: "An especially dirty bit of playing from the Slytherin Beater, not unanticipated of course-"

"Jordan, for the last time-"

"I doubt that, Professor, we've got one more game to go! Summerby takes the penalty shot and - oh, Bletchley _just_ manages to knock it aside. Quaffle goes back into play and-"

He broke off. Bruce, instead of taking his position again, had gestured to Madam Hooch for a private word. Looking annoyed, the referee flew over to him; the two hovered in midair for a minute, speaking with their heads close together. Finally Bruce raised his head and called for Crabbe to come over. There was a moment of heated discussion, audible even in the stands; then, sullenly, Crabbe sank to the sidelines and hurled his bat aside.

"I say," said Richard, interested, "what's Bruce trying to pull?"

The situation looked pretty obvious to Beth. "He's rotating him out."

"But you're not allowed to send in alternates," said Richard. "That's why Ireland lost the Cup last year; if they'd been allowed to replace Lynch..."

Bruce seemed to be aware of the rule. As soon as Crabbe was settled on the sidelines, he flew back into his spot before the goals. Madam Hooch gave him a brisk nod and whistled the game back into action.

"Unbelievable-" shouted Lee Jordan from the press box. "It looks as if - yes, Crabbe has been benched - not a smart move from the Slytherin captain, they're going to have to play short-handed!"

Short-handed or not, Slytherin continued to dominate: they scored twice more, although Hufflepuff got in another goal because Goyle, on his own for possibly the first time in his life, couldn't keep possession of the Bludgers alone. After about ten more minutes of game play - including a Snitch-sighting by Draco and another foul shot when a Hufflepuff Beater was accused of cobbing - Bruce called for a time-out. Calling all the players in to him, he circled them around for just a minute or two before sending them back out, Crabbe once more on the field among them.

Eighty points ... ninety ... one hundred points for Slytherin, and at least one of them was Melissa's. The girl darted around the field, her brown hair streaming behind her. She was perhaps not the most elegant player on the field, nor the most confident, and she trailed both Aaron and Warrington by two or three goals; but her sheer determination, and her joy at being on the field, was on full display.

There was a shout from the Slytherin part of the stands; Draco had caught sight of the Snitch and was speeding down the pitch, laid almost flat on his broomstick. The wind at that speed tossed his hair back; he shot like an arrow through the air, fixated on his target...

...and out from nowhere came Summerby, the Hufflepuff Seeker, to snatch the golden ball from beneath Draco's nose.

Draco was yards away before he could slow down enough to make a turn. The crowds were howling, Madam Hooch was blowing her whistle, the Hufflepuff players mobbed their Seeker ecstatically, and Lee Jordan was shouting out the results: one hundred and seventy points to one hundred points, and Hufflepuff had won the game.

The Slytherin onlookers made their opinions on the situation known. Slytherin hadn't lost a game to Hufflepuff for over a decade. Beth looked to Bruce, sinking to the ground near the goal posts, expecting the worst. But for all the clamor going on around him, Miles Bruce Bletchley remained firmly under control.

First he went to the Hufflepuff captain and shook his hand. Then he waved his team over until they clustered around him. Whatever he had to tell them, it only took a minute or two to say; then they turned and headed back to the locker room, looking more like a unified team than they ever had in defeat - or, for that matter, in victory.

Slowly the stands emptied as students made their way back to the castle, still verbally revisiting the highlights of the game. Beth and Richard stood up to leave, reluctant to part ways again.

"Thank you for coming," said Beth, looking up into Dave Gudgeon's face.

"The pleasure was entirely mine," said Richard grandly. "Besides, it was my idea. Come on, give us a kiss to remember you by."

"Sure you won't get jealous?" she teased. "Dave's a pretty good-looking guy."

Richard looked horrified. "He's twice your age!"

She shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Sure doesn't look it -"

"Close your eyes," Richard broke in gently, stroking her eyelids closed with a finger that was not his. "You won't even tell the difference."

He turned out to be right.

-'-'-

Melissa came back to the common room an hour or so after the game, freshly showered. "Nice job," Beth greeted her. "I wish Montage could've seen it."

"Forget Montague," said Melissa, her eyes alight, "I wish Galen could have seen it." Melissa hadn't mentioned her ex-boyfriend all year.

She dropped onto the sofa beside Beth. "So what was with benching Crabbe?" asked Beth curiously. "I've never seen anybody do that."

"Well, that was Bruce's policy," sighed Melissa. "He told us ahead of time he was going to bench anyone who intentionally fouled out. We didn't think he'd really do it..."

"He's always hated the way we play to foul," Beth said thoughtfully. "I guess now he's finally had a chance to do something about it. Sorry about the loss," she added. "What did Bruce have to say about it?"

Melissa looked up, and her eyes were suddenly bright. "He said - 'I'm prouder of this loss than I ever was of a victory.'"

At those words, Bruce himself entered the common room. He had changed out of his uniform into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt; for possibly the first time after a game, he looked completely calm. He strolled over to the girls and perched on the arm of the sofa.

"Thanks for playing, Mel," he said. "You flew really well."

Melissa turned red. "Thanks." She cleared her throat with the air of someone changing the conversation. "You - you were serious about the fouling."

"That's why I said it," said Bruce gravely.

Melissa punched him lightly in the knee. "You'd better be careful," she said, mocking his tone. "Keep playing fair like that and someone's going to mistaken you for a Gryffindor."

A strange look came over Bruce's face. He let his gaze drop to his hands. "You know," he said, "I always wanted to be Gryffindor."

Beth and Melissa both froze. They had never heard anything of the sort from him.

"Mum was one, you know," he went on, not looking at them, "and Dad too, before he died. I wanted _so much_ to be able to..." he broke off. "Then the Sorting Hat told me I wanted it a little _too_ much. 'SLYTHERIN!' I wanted to die."

All three of them were silent.

"Well," said Melissa in a small voice, "I - I think your father would be really proud of what you've become."

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. "I sure hope so." Bruce got up and patted Melissa on the shoulder again. "Good game." He went off to the boys' dormitory alone.

Neither of the girls ever spoke a word about what he had said; but they both felt like they understood him a little better.

-'-'-

Now that Slytherin had played its last game of the season, the team was disbanded - and none too soon, because all seven players were due to take either the O.W.L.s or the N.E.W.T.s in just a few weeks.

"It _is_ a relief to be free of practices," said Melissa, as if she had been shackled to the training schedule for a year instead of a few weeks. "Although I'm quite looking forward to the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game. It will make an excellent study break."

"And it'll be the funniest game ever," Mervin interjected.

They strolled down the hallway from the sixth floor. "I'm going to miss the game," Beth noted. "I have an interview with the Ministry that day."

"Do you?" said Melissa, her curiosity piqued. "With whom?"

Beth kept her voice intentionally casual. "The Department of Mysteries."

Melissa's reaction was much the same as Richard's had been.

"What? Don't you think it's a little dangerous? And Umbridge still has Ministry connections, she'll want you to go on being her little minion... Will you knock that off?" she said sharply to Mervin, who was humming "Weasley is Our King" absently as he walked.

"It's just an interview," Beth said patiently. "I'll get a chance to see what the job is all about. I don't have to agree to take it."

"You'd better hope not."

They reached the fourth-floor corridor. At the edge of the Weasley's swamp - still in place, and blooming new flora every day - rested a flat wooden raft, upon which stood Argus Filch like a disgruntled gondolier.

They got onto the raft. Filch, muttering continuously, pushed off and began punting them down the hall while the conversation went on.

"I'm going to the Ministry the month after for an interview," Mervin spoke up. "With the Obliviators. They say you get offered the job instantly if none of them remember you were there."

They got off the raft at the other end of the hall and descended the staircase. At the Great Hall, Beth turned to continue on down to the dungeons.

Melissa glanced at her. "What, aren't you coming?"

"I'm a week behind on grading potions for Snape," Beth sighed. "If don't get this done before the final he says he'll test their antidotes on me. I've seen their antidotes. I don't want to die. I'll be back in the common room by curfew."

"You don't have curfew anymore, remember?" said Mervin, with more than a hint of jealousy.

"Then I'll be back by tomorrow morning," Beth groaned.

She headed to the dungeons, where dozens of half-filled flasks awaited her attentions. Instead of taking up the daily classwork, however, she fired up a cauldron and pulled out a few samples of Evan's Alchemy potion.

Her analysis had turned up some interesting results. As Beth suspected, his potion turned up positive for a large percentage of human blood - his own, Beth guessed, drawn from the Dark Mark itself. A paper chromatograph showed that it had been exposed to the full moon three different times. He really _had_ been working on it all year. The diamond sand had been fully absorbed by the rest of the tarlike potion, but she was able to estimate the percentage volume by exposing it to the light.

She set up the brewing-temperature test easily, having done it so often over the past year, and let a sample simmer half-submerged. She thought Professor Snape would forgive her a few minutes away from the other students' work in order to pursue Evan's cure.

Professor Snape. Beth sighed. She was becoming increasingly confused about Professor Snape's position. He had allowed Evan to continue with his potion, he had held that strange conversation with Potter the night Trelawney was sacked, and he hadn't spoken a word about the Dark Lord despite attending the same meetings. Everything she knew about him was at odds with everything else. It was very difficult, Beth thought, to trust someone whose actions never made sense anymore.

In any case, this strange inconsistency wasn't hurting their professional relationship a bit. Both of them knew what Evan had been up to, and both of them knew the other one was marked, but neither had made the slightest indication that they did. It was a satisfactory arrangement so far, and it was certainly the safest; but Beth wondered just how long it could last.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
**Author's Notes: **The end is near...and about darn time, too. :) Expect the last few chapters to go up in quick succession. Thanks for sticking it out.  
There have been several questions/comments since my last author's note that beg a reply.  
**netrat** Who says Dumbledore doesn't know? Either way, I think Evan was banking on Snape being Mr. Super-Secretive, Sr. **Lyta:** (These are way back in like, chapter 22) 1. Hogwarts is such an Order stronghold that Voldemort considers the student SSA kind of a lost cause. He also has reason to believe that they're not as loyal as they ought to be. In short, they won't be much use, and he has bigger plans. 2) The rings went cold at Richard's death, but it was around four in the morning and nobody noticed. 3) Riggs is acting on his own regarding Beth, in whom Voldemort has little if any current interest. Riggs is biding his time until he has something major to show for his extracurricular spying.  
There's been a clutch of new readers, to my surprise: **Jdcrmn, libby, MusicisLife28** and a guy named **Diesel-Power** who doesn't think I give Harry enough credit. A valid point, DP, but he's been given plenty of credit in fanfiction and I thought I'd take an opposite view. Besides, most of the really impressive things about him--the personal struggles, the natural virtues--are internal and the Slytherins would never see them. I'm sorry, but there will be no SSA6.  
**berzer** gets the prize for leaving the 100th review: Yay berzer! **Springrain** wondered about Beth's work schedule. It's largely up to her discretion as long as it all gets done.  
And** Moria** : I wouldn't call you sick necessarily for thinking that Evan and Herne are cute together, but it is very odd to me that someone would ship characters I didn't intend. I will admit that they make a nice contrast to each other, how's that?  
One last thing. Please remember to leave a review at the last chapter! Writing these books has been an _extremely_ long journey for me. I want to know who's come along for the ride! We ought to have a party or something.


	28. London

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: London**

The street upon which the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic stood was surprisingly empty for ten o'clock in the morning. The dingy-looking offices and pubs lining the narrow street showed little sign of activity. Beth went up to a crooked red telephone booth, squeezed inside, and - as per the instructions from the Head of the Department of Mysteries - dialed 6-2-4-4-2. 

"Welcome to the Ministry for Magic. Please state your name and business." 

"Elizabeth Parson. I have an interview at the Department of Mysteries." 

"Thank you." The female voice was human of timbre but automated in tone. "Visitor, please take the badge and affix it to the front of your robes." 

Beth took the silver badge that the telephone spat out at her ("Elizabeth Parson, Interview"), duly noted the speaker's warning that her wand would be checked inside, and tried to keep her balance while the floor jiggled and began to drop like an old, rusty elevator. 

Beth had been to the Ministry several times, but she still found herself impressed by the rich hardwood floors, blue-and-gold ceiling, and the opulent décor. Very important-looking witches and wizards moved in and out amid the crowds, busily reading parchments or making impressive small talk with their colleagues. Beth joined the bustle and made her way down the hall to the security booth on the left. 

She handed over her wand to the witch on duty. "I'm here for an interview with Mr. Schrowde. He said you could page him for me." 

"Right-o!" said the witch, handing back Beth's wand and setting aside the readout from the weighing device. She turned to her right. Upon the wall was mounted a round looking-glass with an interesting frame that seemed to be made of old Knuts. The security witch tapped one of the Knuts, which depressed back to the wall, and said, "Schrowde, you got a visitor." 

A face fogged into view in the center of the mirror: a balding man with small, neat glasses. "Name, please?" 

"Parson," said the security witch, winking at Beth. "Says you got an interview." 

"Yes, of course. I'll come up and meet her." The mirror went milky, then cleared. The depressed Knut popped back into place. 

The security witch turned back to Beth. "So you wanna be an Unspeakable, huh?" There was an engaging worldliness in her friendly smile. 

"I don't know yet," said Beth. Something about the guard made her want to be honest. "I thought I'd ... see what happened." 

"Well, interestin' business, they tell me," said the witch. "Neat place, about the smartest floor of the Ministry. Just don't go pokin' around down there," she advised, wagging a finger. "I tried that once and near lost my job - not to mention a foot." 

She brayed out a laugh that was oddly reminiscent of Professor Grubbly-Plank's. Just then, the golden gates at the end of the hall opened and the man from the mirror strode through. He was neatly dressed, of a careful composition, and Beth realized (with a kind of embarrassed horror) that she was easily a head taller than him. However, this did not seem to deter him in the slightest; he came straight up to her and shook her hand, with the composure of a successful man. 

"Miss Parson, I presume? I am Mr. Schrowde." 

"Yes," said Beth, shaking his hand firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

"Likewise, my dear. Every inquiry to our department is an honor. We take it to mean that the public, while it may not understand what we do, recognizes its value to the country and its people." 

He turned to the security witch. "Thank you, Liza, I will take her from here." 

She gave Beth a crooked grin. "Good luck." 

Beth smiled her thanks and followed Mr. Schrowde through the golden gates and into an elevator. 

"I think we'll take an office on the fourth floor; I'm afraid there is very little space available on the tenth level, where my department is located." 

"Will I have a chance to tour the department?" asked Beth politely, watching the floors pass through the bars of the elevator. 

"I'm afraid our policy forbids it," said Mr. Schrowde, smiling at her. "Should you become an employee, I assure you, we have a very thorough indoctrination process." Beth thought that sounded a little ominous; but before she could comment, Mr. Schrowde exclaimed, "Ah! Our floor," and the doors creaked open to the sound of the lift announcer stating, "Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau." 

"We find this a convenient place for meetings such as this," Mr. Schrowde explained, leading her into an office marked _Centaur Liaison Office_. "Certain never to be disturbed. So-" he took a seat behind a polished wooden desk, and gestured Beth to a chair before it, "-why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Parson?" 

Beth had expected this question, and was prepared for it: she spoke briefly about her home life, her favorite classes at Hogwarts, and a few of her hobbies. At Mr. Schrowde's prompting, she went into detail about her final Alchemy project: not only how it had turned out, and the technical details, but how she had handled the workload, unexpected problems and mental stress. "It was the most challenging thing I've ever done," she admitted, "but I enjoyed the work, and it was great to end up with a finished product." 

"Well, we certainly have hands-on opportunities in the Department of Mysteries," Mr. Schrowde chuckled. "I can't be specific, of course, but let me give you an idea of the responsibilities of the position for which you have applied. You would be working in a largely research-focused area, probably in a team of five or six, on a cross-disciplinary project, where you would be one of perhaps two or three potions workers. In addition to these major projects, which rotate every few months, you would have a dozen or so minor projects to be completed individually. Grunt work, at first," he acknowledged, "but we are always looking for entry-level workers to show their mettle." 

"That sounds like what I'm looking for," said Beth, surprised to find the job so attractive. "Is the learning all hands-on, or is there a chance for study?" 

"We can arrange for study, if you like," said Mr. Schrowde, steepling his fingers. "I think you will find the job rigorous in its own right. Are you aware of basic laboratory procedure?" 

She was, thanks to her job with Professor Snape, and offered a few examples. The longer they talked, the more interested she was in the job. But there was the one aspect of the job which had not been broached, the biggest deterrent of all... Choosing her words carefully, Beth asked, "Your letter mentioned Obliviation as a security measure. To what extent is that in place?" 

"All but the most senior employees of the Department of Mysteries are required to submit to a full mind wipe of working hours," Schrowde said placidly. 

His calm tone made the words more ominous. "So I'm not allowed to tell my family anything about it?" Beth pressed, wondering if protocol allowed her to question her interviewer like this. 

Schrowde did not seem to mind. "You wouldn't be able to even if you wanted it," he answered gravely. "Our secrets are valuable. We have a great deal invested in protecting them." 

So all of the Unspeakables were under the same restrictions as Bode and Croaker. "I see," said Beth. 

"Many of our employees adjust very quickly," said Mr. Schrowde. "Some of my colleagues in the other departments envy us, in fact - they tell me they should very much like to forget their own working hours." He laughed; Beth took the cue and laughed along. "The policy can be liberating," he added. "We need never take our work home with us." 

He leaned back in his chair. "Before we move on in the process, Miss Parson, I would like to approach one more subject, if I may." 

"Of course." 

"We have taken the liberty of running a background check on you, Miss Parson." 

Beth nodded compliantly; she supposed this was an ordinary thing to expect for government work. 

"You lived for several years in America, is that correct?" 

"Yes, but I'm a British citizen," Beth clarified. 

"So we discovered." Schrowde chuckled suddenly. "Though you certainly don't sound it. Father is a Muggle, served in their armed forces." 

"Royal Air Force," Beth corrected again. "Decorated." 

"I see. And then...there is the matter of your other relations." 

Beth's mouth went dry. "Yes," she said stupidly, just for something to say. 

"We have it on record that your mother and one brother are serving life sentences in Azkaban prison, and that a second brother escaped during the January breakouts." 

"That's true." Beth forced herself to hold on to her nerves. "All three of them were imprisoned before I turned four. I never knew any of them until Lycaeon's parole last year." 

Mr. Schrowde folded his hands. "It would be pointless, I expect, to ask whether you have seen your brother since his escape." 

There was something interesting in his tone; none of the accusation that she would expect. This was, of course, a man familiar with the keeping of secrets. "Yes," said Beth, surprised and emboldened into simple speech. "It would be." 

"I am pleased to hear it," said Schrowde, and Beth felt with a rush of relief that she had passed some strange test. "Come with me," he said, getting up from his chair. "I'll take you to Wizard Resources on the first floor to handle some formalities." 

Beth stood and followed him out into the hall. They had gone only a few paces when a small, wiry figure stopped in front of them, barring the way. 

"I say! Parson, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?" 

It was Professor Grubbly-Plank. Her cropped graying hair was tousled, her clothes more casual than she had worn as a teacher. She stuck out her hand in greeting. 

"Professor Grubbly-Plank!" Beth shook the proffered hand. "I have an interview today. I didn't know you worked at the Ministry." 

"Temp work with the Pest Control Department. Got to keep busy, eh?" She jerked her thumb down the hall, where an interesting assortment of brays, bird-calls, and hoofbeats originated. "Got a toad pukin' gold back there. Thing looks damn uncomfortable but we can't bring ourselves to stop 'im." She laughed; it echoed around the halls like machine-gun fire. 

Mr. Schrowde winced almost imperceptibly. "I beg your pardon, Wilhelmina. Our schedule is pressing..." 

"Right, right, go on," said Grubbly-Plank cheerily, waving a hand. "Just don't ask for funding from our golden toad." She leaned up to Beth's ear conspiratorially. "Probably leprechaun gold anyway. Still, better rich than sorry..." 

Beth waved a cheerful goodbye and followed Mr. Schrowde onto the elevator at the end of the hall. "Quite an enthusiastic woman," he murmured, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "We have research linking laughter to the life spans of faeries, but I daresay hers would knock them dead." 

Mr. Schrowde took her upstairs to a witch who described the pay and benefits of the position, and Beth, who had had a hand in her father's finances for a few years, had to admit that they were generous. Moreover, everyone she had spoken to - from the security witch to the Wizard Resources lady who was now describing the Ministry's pension plan - seemed very nice; they would be good coworkers. Even Schrowde, while reserved, was genial enough. She thought that, given the chance, she might be very happy here. 

"Are you interested in our flex-time option?" smiled the Wizard Resources lady. 

Beth, broken out of her reverie, met her kind eyes and smiled back. "Can you tell me about it?" 

-'-'-

There were more meetings and brief interviews, but they went quickly; Beth left the ministry at eleven o'clock, with an armful of official documents and the buoyant feeling that she had done a good job. However, as she walked through London to Diagon Alley, it didn't take long for her to start recalling and amplifying in her mind the things she had done wrong, until she had to force herself to stop. There was nothing she could do now, just send Mr. Schrowde a polite thank-you owl and hope for the best. 

...but did she really want to hope for it? 

Beth paused before the Leaky Cauldron, biting her lip. There was that question again. Was it worth the cost? What would she have to give up? 

There was time to think of that, she told herself firmly, entering the tavern. She hadn't even been offered an actual job yet. Although, she admitted, despite her cruel self-analysis, she thought the event was likely. 

She had lunch in a cute cafe called _Le Petit Fromage_. After she had finished, she pulled out a rolled-up sheet of parchment from her pocket and spent a few minutes familiarizing herself with the contents. 

_

Diatomaceous earth (1 part)   
Nitroglycerin (3 p.)   
Sodium carbonate   
Time fuse, consisting of the following...

_

She grinned to herself. She hadn't known until the previous week that Dave Gudgeon had a working knowledge of Muggle explosives; but then, she really wasn't surprised. According to Dave, dynamite was three times as powerful as gunpowder. If anything was going to bring down the walls of the Society crypt, this would do it. 

She spent some time strolling up and down Diagon Alley, poking into the potions shops that Melissa was never interested in seeing. Finally she located the Weasley twins' new premises. Numbers 90 through 92, Diagon Alley, were stacked on each other in a building no wider than the front door. Number 94 was a billowing tent as vast and gilded as an ancient mosque. The storefront in between was painted in Gryffindor gold-and-crimson with a glass window bearing a flashing marquee: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. 

Beth stood on the sidewalk opposite for some time, watching curious shoppers come and go, the list of components burning a metaphorical hole in her pocket. When the shop was finally empty, she crossed the street, laid a hand on the knob and stepped through the door. 

"SLYTHERIN!" shrieked a gleeful voice. With no further warning, a torrent of water cascaded from the ceiling and soaked Beth from head to foot. 

An empty pail clattered to the floor. Beth kicked out furiously and the bucket went skittering across the floor, still calling "Slytherin ... Slytherin..." in a fading, tinny voice. 

At the sound of the crash, twin redheads emerged from behind the counter. They grinned broadly at the sight of her. 

"Discriminating Douser," said one of the Weasleys proudly. "Only falls for the intended target. You can set it for anyone you like. Siblings, trespassers, Hogwarts High Inquisitors -" 

"Paying customers?" said Beth, though gritted teeth. 

The Weasleys exchanged a glance. "It's just our sample piece," said the other. "We didn't reckon we'd get a lot of Slytherin business." 

Beth fought the urge to tell them that if they left that thing up, they wouldn't get any. Instead, she pulled out the advertisement she had clipped from the Prophet. "Your adverts said you sell explodables." 

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is, unfortunately, clean out of fireworks," one said. "Used the last one in the fifth-floor toilet, I believe. Now, if you'd like to be on our wait list-" 

"I don't want fireworks," said Beth, "I want bombs." 

The twins' jaws dropped identically. 

"The Muggle kind," Beth clarified. 

"We don't-" began one twin uneasily, but the other broke in excitedly: 

"How powerful?" 

"Enough to blow up a stone wall." 

She watched them wordlessly, giving the idea time to germinate. The twins had their eyes fixed on each other; some kind of conversation was going on, silent and unspecific but indubitably understood on both ends. Finally one of them spoke. 

"I think," he said slowly, "that if we had a week or so we could procure some..." 

"Provided we knew what you'd be using them on," the other added. 

"Professor Umbridge," Beth said instantly, lying through her teeth. "You can give me Veritaserum and ask me again. We don't want a dictator any more than you do. We're going to implode her office on the last day before summer holidays." 

There was a beat of pure silence. 

"Wicked," breathed one of the twins. 

"We thought the swamp was good," said the other, "but for sheer _destructiveness,_ Parson-" 

"Then do us a favor," said Beth, holding out the list that Dave Gudgeon had sent, "and get us the supplies." 

The twins hesitated again; but at last, one of them reached out and took the list from her hand. They put their heads together over it, absorbing the words. Finally, they looked up at her in (slightly creepy) syncopation. 

"We'll do it." 

It didn't take long to arrange for pickup and payment. (Both to be carried out by Professor Grubbly-Plank, Polyjuice-disguised as Beth, although the Weasleys would never know it.) They sealed it with a handshake apiece - something Beth thought she would never bestow upon any Weasley, these two in particular. For possibly the first time, they parted company on good terms. 

A curious voice stopped her at the door. "Say," said one, "how's the swamp?" 

Beth couldn't keep back a smile. "Filch has to ferry us across to class." 

_"Wicked,"_ they said together. 

"Heck of a testimonial," Beth agreed. "Thanks again." 

Beth stepped out onto the crowded street, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done and a certain peace with the world - at least until the Discriminating Douser, which had reactivated itself in the meantime, came crashing down onto her head again and soaked her from head to toe. 


	29. Sunset Hours

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Sunset Hours**

Beth had done what she could for the Society. Now something equally pressing was on her doorstep: the N.E.W.T.s, just a week away. 

Every class became a preparation for the tests. Every mealtime became a study session, every study session a cram session, and every cram session a marathon into the night. Beth had fewer tests to worry about than during fifth year, but the material was so much harder that that was little comfort. 

The Guild of the Eagle offered their library tower to the Society for study, and the fifth- and seventh-years took great advantage of that. The tower was far less crowded than the library proper, and almost as well-stocked - particularly in the Dark Arts section, which they constantly had to pull Mervin out of to get him to focus. 

Had Beth been given a moment to think, it may have occurred to her that these last, precious few days at Hogwarts would have been better used in the cheerful company of her friends, strolling the summer-green grounds or enjoying the castle soon to be left behind. But she had neither the time nor the thought; and so they labored apart, cloistered and frantic, or in groups without interaction. Those sunset hours were wasted with schooling. They almost always are. 

-'-'-

"One more to go. One more to go. One more to go." 

It was the afternoon of the second Thursday of tests; and up and down the common room, fifth years and seventh years shared the same frightening, ecstatic mantra. 

"Just one more. Just one more." 

But between those final words of encouragement buzzed chatter of a different sort. It started with the fifth-year Astronomy students and made its way around the school within hours. Rubeus Hagrid had finally been sacked. 

"But the way they came after him!" said Blaise, delighted for once to be at the epicenter of a good story. "At least half a dozen of them, with Stunners and everything! And then when McGonagall came out and tried to stop them ... a house-elf told me that she was transferred to St. Mungo's this morning. They're surprised that she lived." She sighed in deep satisfaction. "It almost makes up for the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw game." 

"Please," said Bruce, without looking up from the Daily Prophet. "Don't talk about that." 

The Gryffindor Keeper had finally got hold of himself. Despite all their handicaps, and the very noticeable lack of Potter on the field, Gryffindor had taken the Quidditch cup for the second year running. After an entire year of being taunted, Weasley really was their king. Beth was glad she'd missed it. 

She turned back to Blaise. "And this didn't bother anybody that it disrupted one of your O.W.L.s?" said Beth, with half a smile. 

"Of course not. We've already decided to put in a class-action suit against the Ministry to have our grades bumped up across the board, for the distraction. Draco's idea, of course. But," she added, sighing, "I doubt we'll get to do that for History of Magic. I need to get back to studying. See you later," she said, and returned to her fifth-year classmates and the stacks of notes at their side. 

Aaron Pucey watched her go with a look of deep satisfaction on his face. He had been gloating all morning. 

"I told you so," he said to Beth, for the twentieth time that day. "I knew it was going to happen. Ever since he got inspected back in October, I knew what was coming." 

Beth refrained from congratulating him, as he was doing such a good job of it himself. "So who won the Hagrid poll?" 

"Some fourth-year called Oren Bergeron," said Aaron, expression drooping slightly. "I shouldn't have let him put money that it wouldn't happen until the last day of school. Everybody else figured it would've been done three weeks ago, and the school year's practically over. He got it on default." 

Beth smiled. Oren was bright - assuming, of course, that he hadn't asked Audra to try and See the gamekeeper's arrest for him. 

"Stop chattering!" Melissa broke in irritably, without taking her eyes from the textbook propped in front of her. "The Charms practical is in twenty minutes!" 

"We know," said Beth. "You're out of time, Mel. Give it up." 

"Not until the last moment," said Melissa through her teeth. 

The last moment came quickly, however; at two o'clock that afternoon, the Great Hall was once more transferred into a testing center for the fifth-years, and the seventh-years were ushered out into the waiting room for their practical. 

Beth was calm as she stood in line, idly playing with her wand. She was not particularly worried about this test. She was certain she had received an "Outstanding" in Potions, and her Arithmancy had gone well. She even expected to pass her Herbology N.E.W.T. - although, she conceded, it wouldn't be by much of a margin. No one was going to fault her for pulling an "A" or even "P" in something outside her area. That was the delightful part of finishing school, she thought with a grin. She would never again be asked to excel in eight subjects at once. From now on she could focus exclusively on the studies she loved. 

She was called into the testing room with Aaron, Melissa, and a handful of others from the same part of the alphabet, and proceeded to one of the far desks. She could see Warrington and Antigone at the other side of the room, still going on with their tests. Warrington, by all appearances, was having a horrible time of it; the proximity of Antigone had clearly destroyed what little concentration he had, and the teapot he was supposed to be enlarging turned into tar and dripped all over the floor. 

Beth turned away from him and focused on her testing proctor; but before she could even receive her instructions, there was a shriek and shattering noise from the center of the room. 

Kenneth Towler and the wizard proctoring him were backing away from the desk where his teapot stood, as were the students around him. It had grown like Cinderella's pumpkin to six feet in diameter. More alarmingly, it had sprouted huge hairy arms and legs and there was red smoke pouring from its spout. 

The monstrous thing leapt from its place on the table and barreled across the room, headed directly for Antigone von Dervish. 

Patricia Stimpson fainted; Kenneth Towler shouted and stumbled backwards a few paces; Melissa, already absorbed in her examination, refused to pay it notice and went on with her enchantment. Antigone, frozen in the path of the creature, let out a shriek. 

Warrington turned with his hand still on the doorknob. His usually-slow intellect grasped onto the situation at once. Without hesitation, he barreled across the room and put himself between the creature and Antigone, who finally had the sense to dart out of the way. 

The monster hit him like a train. 

That is, it hit like a train with the expectation of a clear track and not a brick wall. Warrington stayed on his feet, moving deftly backward to absorb the initial force of the impact. He moved only a few short feet before his sheer bulk had slowed the straining creature to a struggle; then he threw his arms around the monster and began to wrestle it back. 

Angry scarlet steam tumbled from the malformed spout. The thing's brutish arms flailed to find purchase around Warrington's broad chest, but failed - step by step it was forced into the clear center of the room. Warrington had his shoulders low, like a man moving a boulder, his face red and tense against the twisted beast. The sinews in his neck bulged under the strain. The creature might have weighed hundreds of pounds - and yet it staggered under the awesome strength of the Slytherin Chaser. 

At the center of the room, Warrington moved his grip and took hold of the tangled spout in both hands. With a massive heave, he hurled the monster to the ground. 

One of the proctors darted forward at the chance, face white. He aimed at the creature, its legs kicking in the empty air. 

_"Finite Incantatum!"_

With a final blast of red steam, the beast dwindled until a simple porcelain teapot lay spinning on the floor. 

Warrington stood straight, staring down at his vanquished foe. His chest heaved; sweat ran down his face from the exertion. His fists clenched and unclenched as if of their own accord; his brain had not yet told them that the fight was over. 

Antigone von Dervish hurtled across the room and into his arms. 

The proctor cleared his throat. "Ah," he said, still sounding very much shell-shocked. "Ahem. Well done, then. I believe you have earned your N.E.W.T. in Charms, Mr. Warrington." 

One of the other testers, this one very white-haired and wrinkled, came out from under her testing table and tottered up to them, still looking extremely shocked. "Mr. Warrington!" she said, looking him up and down with a wide-eyed awe that was almost improper. "Have you ever considered the training of trolls for a career?" 

"No," said Warrington. His eyes rested softly on the top of Antigone's head, pressed against his chest. 

"I shall put in an application," said the ancient woman. "Oh yes. And a recommendation as well. Do come with me, I shall arrange it right now - one moment, Miss Ollivander," she said to Melissa, who looked utterly appalled at having her test interrupted. She took Warrington's arm and tugged him over to her table. "Now I'll need a mailing address, full name, height and weight - oh me, this is very exciting!" 

The tester who had performed the counterspell turned on Kenneth Towler. "And you! I expect you rubbed dragon's lard on your wand, is that it?" 

"Um," said Kenneth Towler. 

"That sort of magical enhancement can only be controlled by the most powerful wizards!" the tester chided. "It must not be attempted by amateurs, and furthermore, it is illegal for use during this examination! I'll be taking that," he said sternly, snatching Towler's wand from his hand. "I hope our tests show that you only used it this very morning, Mr. Towler. It would be a shame for this to affect _all_ of your N.E.W.T.s." 

"Um," said Towler again, as someone ushered the unhappy boy from the room. 

"Well," said Beth's proctor, clearing her throat, "I suppose we can get back to the testing. Please enlarge this teapot, Miss Parson, to the dimensions I specify ... and no larger, please," she added, with a little nervous titter. 

Beth raised her wand with a smile as Warrington and Antigone left the room, arm in arm. Something this year had ended up right after all. 

-'-'-

Nobody saw either Warrington or Antigone until nearly dinnertime, to no one's surprise, and the N.E.W.T.s went on without further incident - unless you counted Harry Potter freaking out near the end of his History of Magic test, but Beth wasn't there to see it, and if you believed the Daily Prophet he'd had a breakdown like that coming for a long time. 

"I can't believe it's finally over," said Melissa, as the four of them strolled through the halls. "All that work ... and it's over." 

"And about time," said Mervin fervently. 

There was a shout from behind them. Professor Umbridge, clutching a Secrecy Sensor in one hand, was trundling down the hall as fast as her little legs would take her. She barely paused on her way past; she merely tugged on Beth's elbow and shouted, "Come with me! I need you at once!" 

Casting an alarmed look at Melissa, Beth hurried after Umbridge, with the others following behind. 

"Invading my office-" puffed Umbridge, as they charged forward. "To speak with Dumbledore, no doubt-this army-" Her round face was highly flushed. "We will ferret them out," she promised, and her mean little face showed no mercy. 

A small crowd had gathered at the end of the corridor to Umbridge's office. Luna Lovegood stood facing them all. 

"Oh yes," she was saying dreamily, gesturing at the hallway, "simply filled with Garroting Gas. They say it's invisible, but really that's a lie set out by the manufacturer, it's really quite visible ... you've only to squint just so..." 

Some of the crowd was squinting skeptically into the hallway, following her advice. Professor Umbridge shoved past them. 

"Arrest her," she snapped to Beth, pointing a stubby finger at Luna. The two students looked at each other for a moment. Beth reached out and took Luna's upper arm firmly. The Ravenclaw made no move to run. 

"Now," said Professor Umbridge nastily, stepping forward, "let us pay a visit to the intruders..." 

"I shouldn't go in there if I were you," Luna spoke up. "Filled brimming with Garroting Gas, you know." 

"Garroting gas?" Umbridge raised her eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into her hairline. "We shall see..." She cast about the assembled crowd and her eyes fell on Sally Bletchley. Grabbing hold of the first-year's arm, Umbridge hurled her into the hallway. 

Sally staggered several yards into the hallway, eyes wide. She gazed around as if in shock, her breathing in fast gasps. The crowd closed in around the edge of the hallway, watching closely for any symptoms of the gas to appear. 

There came a shout from deep in the multitude. 

Bruce fought through the crowd, frantically muscling aside the mob. His expression was one of sheer terror. 

_"Sally!"_

Elbowing past the final tier, he broke into the hall and sprinted to his sister. 

He grabbed her arms, looking her up and down frantically for injury. She stared up at him, wide-eyed. "How do you feel? Can you breathe? _Say something._" 

"She - she pushed me." Sally's usually steady voice was small and childlike. "She thought the hall was poisoned - and - she pushed me in..." 

Bruce raised his head. 

He stood straight; Sally turned around, pressing back against his legs. Bruce put a protective arm across her chest. 

His arm securely around his sister, the two of them fixed their eyes on Professor Umbridge. The dumpy witch was darting around, screaming orders at her Inquisitorial Squad and pointing frantically in all directions-apparently, the conspirators had scattered. (Beth was grateful that she already had her captive in hand.) With the Squad mowing paths through the crowd and onlookers shuffling around craning for a view, the Bletchleys were starkly motionless among the action. 

"You used my sister like a test animal." 

"Do not bother me, Mr. Bletchley, I am exquisitely busy," Umbridge sang out, stalking past. 

"You could have killed her." 

"Mr. Bletchley, you are expelled." 

Bruce was stunned into silence. His arms tightened around his sister. 

Professor Umbridge did not pause. "Bring the criminals to my office," she ordered the Inquisitorial Squad. "I have a feeling," she added nastily, "that we're going to catch a few more." She stormed into the office. 

Bruce started after her. 

Beth gave a tug on Luna's arm and hurried after him. She grabbed his elbow with one hand even while keeping her hold on Luna. 

"Bruce. Bruce, don't." 

"I'm going to kill her," said Bruce flatly. 

"Bruce, _stop._" She tugged on his arm uselessly - only when Sally joined in on the other side did Bruce slow down and come to a halt. 

Beth leapt on the chance. "Bruce, it's not worth it, she's mad, she'll do anything right now," she said, getting in front of him (pulling Luna along as she went). "Let it go, she's crazy. Talk to Snape. He'll be able to do something - anyway what does it matter? You've got your N.E.W.T.s." 

"_Please,_ Bruce," came Sally's voice from below. She sounded close to tears. "I'm okay, really. Please don't make it worse." 

"She would have killed you." Bruce's voice still had that hard, flat quality that frightened Beth more than the outright fury she had seen him display in the past. 

"But I'm all right." Sally dug in her heels. "Come-" she tugged his sleeve forcefully. "Come on, Bruce. Let her go and be horrible to someone else. Come on, I'll show you our common room. They have Dad's name on the wall..." 

Bruce's expression cleared slightly; he looked down at his sister for the first time in long minutes. "They do?" 

"On the old Quidditch rosters," said Sally miserably. "I never told you ... I want to show you. Let's go. I want to get out of this hall." 

At last, Bruce's face relaxed; the tension went out of his shoulders, the color left his brow. "All right." Beth caught his eye; she thought he looked drained. With great effort, he gave her a little smile. "See you later, Beth." 

Beth realized that she still had a job to do; Luna hadn't budged and in fact had watched the whole proceedings with faint interest. "Don't go packing your bags yet," she ordered Bruce. "I'll see you soon." 

Bruce nodded and allowed his sister to tug him down the hall toward the Gryffindor tower. 

"I never did have a brother," said Luna dreamily, looking at a portrait on the wall. 

"They're nothing but trouble," said Beth forcefully, pulling her toward Umbridge's office. 

"Oy, Beth," came a gasping voice behind them. Jeanne had the Weasley girl in a headlock and was struggling to get her into the office. "Get the door for us-ow, bugger it-" 

Jeanne was not the only one with a struggling captive: the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad was staggering toward the office with varying degrees of difficulty, each with a gagged Gryffindor in hand. Pansy Parkinson didn't have a captive, but she had a bunch of wands in her hand. Beth looked Luna over, extracted the girl's wand from behind her ear, and handed it to Pansy. She opened the door for the Squad and waited until they had all squeezed inside; then she followed them (with Luna, docile as a sheep) and closed the door. 

Inside the office, Millicent Bulstrode had Hermione Granger already against the wall; Harry Potter was near the desk, looking as battered as his co-conspirators. 

"Got 'em all," said Warrington proudly. His booming voice reverberated around the office. "_That_ one tried to stop me taking _her_ so I brought him along too." 

Beth thought it might have been the longest string of words Warrington had ever assembled in his life. 

"Good, good. Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?" 

Draco laughed. It must have been his dreams come true. 

Professor Umbridge smiled at him and settled into her armchair, her wide face fixed on Harry Potter. 

"So, Potter," she said. "You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon -" She indicated the Weasley, and Draco laughed again. "- to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes, Mr. Filch having just informed me so. Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody." She leaned forward slightly. "Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone..." 

A couple of the younger Slytherins sniggered. 

Potter, red-faced, was nearly shaking. "It's none of your business who I talk to." 

"Very well," said Umbridge, in her treacherously casual tone. "Very well, Mr. Potter ... I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco - fetch Professor Snape." 

Draco, who didn't have a captive himself, pocketed his wand and left. For long minutes the only sounds were the heavy breathing and struggles of the captured students. Beth glanced down at Luna to make sure she wasn't trying anything funny; the blonde girl stared out the window, idly watching a bird that had landed on the sill. Beth rolled her eyes and shot a half-smile at Jeanne, who was having her feet stomped on by the Weasley girl. Jeanne returned a long-suffering grin. 

When Draco returned, he had the cool black figure of Professor Snape behind him. 

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" said Professor Snape, in a tone of utmost unconcern. 

"Ah, Professor Snape." Umbridge had on her best simper. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please?" 

Snape's tone was cool and polite. "You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter. Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient." 

Umbridge looked embarrassed. "You can make some more, can't you?" she said, her cheeks turning pink. She sounded less wheedling than furious. 

"Certainly," said Snape. Now his voice held a hint of disdain. "It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month." 

Beth froze. 

"A month?" cried Professor Umbridge, her rage momentarily focused away from Potter. "A _month?_ But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!" 

Beth stared at the floor, her mind whirling. It didn't take a moon cycle to mature Veritaserum, it took a quarter of a moon cycle - just a week. With Professor Snape's knowledge of Alchemy he should have been able to come up with a quick-and-dirty version within a few hours. She didn't think he would simply forget his own abilities. But why would he lie to Professor Umbridge, especially when only Potter could benefit...? 

"- I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!" came Umbridge's angry voice. 

"I have already told you," said Snape smoothly, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum." _Veritaserum isn't the only truth elixir in the world,_ Beth thought, increasingly baffled. _What are you playing at, Snape?_ "Unless you wish to poison Potter - and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did - I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling..." 

That was complete bunk and Beth knew it. She watched Snape closely, keeping a grip on Luna's upper arm (which the airheaded girl barely seemed to notice). Clearly, Snape had no intention of giving Umbridge any help whatsoever. Unfortunately, Beth wasn't the only one who noticed. 

"You are on probation!" 

Snape raised an eyebrow and Beth almost laughed out loud. Finals were over; there were no classes left for Umbridge to sit in on. 

"You are being deliberately unhelpful!" cried Umbridge, red with anger. "I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!" 

Snape bowed obligingly, a faint smile on his lips, and turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when Potter yelled: 

_"He's got Padfoot!"_

Snape rotated slowly to look at him. His face was a mask. 

"He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!" Potter repeated frantically. 

Professor Umbridge's eyes lit up. "Padfoot?" she repeated eagerly, staring up into Snape's face. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?" 

Professor Snape's cold gaze never left Potter's face. "I have no idea," he said shortly. "Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job." 

With that, Professor Snape whisked away and closed the door behind him. 

There was a beat of heavy stillness. Umbridge was breathing heavily now, from exertion or from fury. She turned back to Potter and pulled out her wand. 

"Very well." Something madder than usual gleamed in her eyes. "Very well ... I am left with no alternative... This is more than a matter of school discipline... This is an issue of Ministry security... Yes ... yes..." 

Something nasty was going on beneath her great pink hair bow. Her face showed plainly the workings of a twisted mind bent past breaking by frustration and desire. 

"You are forcing me, Potter... I do not want to, but sometimes circumstances justify the use ... I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice..." She was nervous, excited. "The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue." 

Draco's eyes lit up. 

Hermione Granger shrieked, "No! Professor Umbridge - it's illegal -" Umbridge, raising her wand in Potter's direction, paid no attention. "The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!" 

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him." Her naked desire to inflict pain transformed her from a malicious but faintly ridiculous old woman into a horrible being if uncontrollable evil. "He never knew I ordered dementors after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same..." 

"It was _you?_" Potter broke in with a gasp. "_You_ sent the dementors after me?" 

Beth hadn't heard anything about that since the Death Eater meeting over the summer, but she was almost too enraptured by the absurd conversation to care. 

"_Somebody_ had to act. They were all bleating about silencing you somehow - discrediting you - but I was the one who actually _did_ something about it..." She had decided on Potter's head as a target and was advancing with raised wand. "Only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today, though, not now... _Cruc_-" 

"NO!" 

It was Hermione Granger. Fighting Millicent's grip all the while, she shouted, "No - Harry - Harry, we'll have to tell her!" 

"No way!" Potter snarled, clearly preferring painful death. 

"We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you anyway, what's ... what's the point...?" 

She began to cry. 

Nothing, save the chance to try out her Crucio on the Potter boy, could have delighted the Hogwarts High Inquisitor more. "Well, well, well!" cried Umbridge. "Little Miss Question-All is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!" 

The Weasley boy choked out something past his gag: it might have been her name. 

"I'm - I'm sorry, everyone. But - I can't stand it -" She was sobbing into her hands now. 

Umbridge grabbed the girl by the shoulders and practically threw her into a chair. "That's right, that's right, girl! Now then ... with whom was Potter communicating just now?" 

"Well," sniffed Granger, her face still buried in her hands, "well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore..." 

The Weasley girl froze with her foot halfway to her captor's toes; her brother abruptly broke off struggling. Beth shot a glance at Luna. The girl was wearing an expression of mild surprise. On a less vacant face, that would have been astonishment. Apparently Snape wasn't the only one in the office telling untruths. 

There followed an interrogation. 

Did they know where Dumbledore was? No, but they had tried at a string of pubs. They needed to tell him something important. What? That it was ready. 

"What's ready? What's ready, girl?" 

"The ... the weapon." 

By now everyone in the room was focused on the girl's story. At the word "weapon," Professor Umbridge's face lit up with a frantic excitement. What sort of weapon? A method of resistance to be used against the Ministry. What kind? They didn't understand, they were only following Dumbledore's instructions. 

Professor Umbridge was triumphant. 

"Lead me to the weapon." 

Granger peeked through her fingers at the Inquisitorial Squad. "I'm not showing ... them." 

"It is not for you to set conditions," Umbridge snapped. 

The Granger girl switched tactics with impressive speed. "Fine, fine, let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th-that would serve you right - oh, I'd love it if the wh-whole school knew where it was, and how to u-use it, and then if you annoy any of them they'll be able to sort you out!" 

Umbridge seemed to realize what position that would put her in. 

"All right, dear," she said, her voice softening at once, "let's make it just you and me ... and we'll take Potter too, shall we? Get up, now -" 

"Professor," said Draco eagerly, "Professor Umbridge, I think some of the squad should come with you to look after -" 

"I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?" Umbridge snapped back, for once failing to offer respect to the boy with the powerful father. "In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these - escape." 

"All right," said Draco. He did not sound pleased. 

"And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way. Lead on..." 

Her wand held at Potter's back, Professor Umbridge marched the two Gryffindors out of her office and closed the door. 

For a moment the captives stopped struggling and the Squad could relax their grips; Professor Umbridge was a terrible force in her anger, there seemed almost to be a vacuum of energy behind the desk which she had left behind. 

Draco Malfoy turned slowly toward the captives. He was smiling. 

"Well well," he breathed, putting his hands on his slender hips and surveying the captives lined up against the wall, who (save Luna) began to struggle again. "It looks like Professor Umbridge has left me in charge of the interrogation." 

How Draco had determined that was a mystery to Beth, but she knew better than to speak up. 

"In fact, I think she had quite the right idea," he went on, strolling from one end of the room to the other, letting his eyes roam idly along the faces of the prisoners. "Just before Granger lost her nerve. _Someone_ here must know something about Dumbledore's weapon. You can't _work_ on something and not know what it does." 

"You bloody _idiot,_" snarled Ginny Weasley, around Jeanne's forearm, "that was a trick." 

Draco smirked. "Nice try, Weasley." He fingered his wand, letting his eyes linger on her face. "No, you won't talk. But your brother might-" he jerked his head toward Ron Weasley, still held firmly in place by Warrington "-if he saw what the Cruciatus curse could do to you." 

Beth's jaw dropped. Crabbe and Goyle, not even to mention a thrilled-looking Pansy Parkinson, had greedy little smirks on their faces, but Warrington - who always preferred to inflict pain by hand - looked a little uneasy. Jeanne stared at the slim blonde boy as if unable to believe what she had heard. "Hold on there, Draco..." she began, but in her moment of distraction her grip must have loosened just a little. Ginny Weasley pulled back and ran her elbow as hard as she could into Jeanne's stomach. 

Jeanne doubled over, clutching her midsection, and Ginny Weasely wrenched free from her grip. Pansy let out a yell and lunged for her, but the redhead had launched for her at the same time - and the collection of wands in her hand. She hit Pansy like a cannonball. The Slytherin went sprawling, and the wands scattered out of her grasp. 

Draco had finally gotten his wits back and had his wand pointed at the girl's back, but it was too late. The office had erupted into chaos. Before Beth could even blink, there were Stunners going back and forth, fistfights, both curses and curse words filling the air. Dumbledore's Army had finally risen to its first battle. 

Beth looked down at Luna, who gazed back with watery, slightly unfocused eyes. Somewhere nearby, Draco shrieked something about bats. In one wild, ludicrous moment, Beth realized just how little she cared whether these students were kept in captivity or let free. That she was even involved was simply absurd. Well, she had no intention of being wounded in a battle for a cause which she did not believe in. She made a decision. 

"You got me," she told Luna, and raised both hands in surrender. 

Luna nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you," she said somberly. "Though I think I'd better make sure, hadn't I? _Stupefy._" 

There came a strange sensation, like being hit in the middle of the chest with a heavy pillow. Beth thought later that it felt like falling asleep very, very fast ... but at the moment, she had no time for thought at all before an all-encompassing blackness overwhelmed her mind and sent her drifting out of her senses. 


	30. Answering the Call

**Chapter Thirty: Answering the Call**

Beth opened her eyes into blackness. 

She had no idea where she was, or why her every limb ached, or why she was laying on something soft yet heavy that smelled peculiar. She groaned and blinked a few times. 

Slowly the dark room came into focus; as it did, she remembered. She looked around. The whole of the Inquisitorial Squad lay sprawled on the floor of Professor Umbridge's office. A single bat bogey, now indistinct, hovered around Draco's face plucking feebly at his eyebrow. Outside the window, the night had settled in; all the lights had been turned out and the door, as far as Beth could tell, was closed. 

She struggled off of Vincent Crabbe and staggered to her feet. How long had it been? What was going on...? 

Potter. Potter had gone with Umbridge and Granger. The others knew that, they must have followed them ... but that had been hours ago. Where had they gone? Why hadn't anyone returned? 

She forced herself to take a deep breath. _Wake up, Parson. Think._ Snape would need to be told - they were his students, after all, laying here hex-marked. Madam Pomfrey must be notified of her (Beth counted) six new patients. Of course Melissa would want to know, both as prefect and Society president ... the Guild would be curious, but that could wait. She decided that her first stop would have to be Professor Snape. 

She stumbled out of the office and into the black corridor, shutting the door carefully behind her. She had no fear of walking the empty halls after curfew: the I.S. had been given powers far above Filch's. Even Peeves would be manageable with the threat of a Ministry edict. Regardless, she wasn't in a position to care - Luna's stunner had been a good one, and Beth still felt as if she had been hit by the Knight Bus. 

She made it to the dungeons without incident. Passing the Potions classrooms, the laboratories and the dormitories, she went up to the door of Snape's office and pounded on it hard. 

The sound of her banging bounced off the stone walls and echoed down the halls. Still too sore to care, she went on knocking until she was certain that she would wake up not only Snape, but the dead. 

The office door swung open. Severus Snape loomed in the doorway. He had thrown on a black robe over what was unmistakably a pair of gray silk pajamas; a matching sleeping cap was stuffed into one pocked. Unsurprisingly, his face was twisted in cold anger. 

"This had better be good." 

"The Inquisitorial Squad is all laid out cursed in Umbridge's office," Beth told him, not flinching. "We caught Potter and some others sneaking into the Floo, but then Umbridge left with Potter and Granger to see some weapon or something. The rest of them revolted and got away. I just now woke up; everyone else is still Stunned." 

Snape looked fairly stunned himself. 

"Come in," he snapped, "and tell me exactly what happened after I left that office." 

He slammed the door behind her. 

Seated across the desk from Professor Snape, Beth told as much as she could remember, with increasing coherence - by the end she had gotten most of the story straight, although she'd had to go back and amend her words several times. Snape listened intently. When at last she described the scene she had woken up to, he nodded and stood. 

"Go and fetch Madam Pomfrey," he ordered. "I shall meet her in our Headmistress's office. You were the first one awake?" Beth nodded. "Then I expect that you'll be fine. I want you to stay in the infirmary tonight, Miss Parson." 

Beth nodded again. Feeling more alert, she hurried out of the dungeons and up to the infirmary. 

The halls were enchanted so that it never took very long to get to the hospital wing; Beth made excellent time. Madam Pomfrey, it transpired, was easier to awaken than Snape, and looked better put-together when she came to her door; no doubt, the ability to rise to an emergency was an important one for the school nurse. 

"You need to go to Professor Umbridge's office," Beth told her. "The whole Inquisitorial Squad has been hexed." 

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened. "Really." 

"Yes," said Beth calmly. "Draco Malfoy's in bad shape." 

Madam Pomfrey let out a sigh and began gathering an armful of equipment. "I suppose I'd better go have a look. Things have been slow, I ought to have known it was just saving up for something big..." 

Feeling sure that there was nothing more she could do, and not really wanting to help anyway, Beth turned to go. She had no intention of staying the night in the infirmary, as Snape had ordered. The cots were terrible - besides, she felt as if she had work to do. The least she could do was let Deirdre know who had been captured ... maybe the Guild would want to take some kind of action... 

_The Guild?_ she thought, with a nasty inner snort. _Take action?_ The Ravenclaws hadn't done anything but think and talk all year. They would be of no help. She would wake Melissa in case there was something that the Society could do. The Guild could be told in the morning. 

She reached the dungeons, opened her mouth to say the password to the common room ... and paused. Snape's light still flickered far down the hall. Hadn't he gone to fetch the Inquisitorial Squad? Well, she thought with a sigh, she had better see if there was anything else she could do to help. Teacher's-pet points. Although it was almost too late in the year to matter... 

Her feet made no sound on the stone floors. A few yards from the open office door, she paused. Someone was talking ... Professor Snape was talking, not loudly, but urgently, and someone was answering back. 

"...is gone as well. The wretched woman could be anywhere. Perhaps half a dozen children - my own students were so addled they could hardly tell-" 

There came a rough voice that Beth did not recognize. "If you sent my godson off to die, Snape, I swear I'll-" 

"I sent your godson nowhere," Snape broke in again, coldly. "I had no idea that the fool would go after you without at least checking-" 

"Silence, the pair of you!" This voice was Dumbledore, but it was Dumbledore at his finest: strong, forceful, deadly serious. "There is no time to waste in bickering while the fate of us all may be in danger. Severus, you are certain of his destination?" 

In a sneering tone. "I have seen that corridor in his thoughts dozens of times, Professor. He has played directly into the Dark Lord's hands." 

"Then we must meet him there. I will send as many as possible to the Department of Mysteries. Severus, you must-" 

"I'm going with you." This was the rough voice again. 

"I could hardly prevent you, Sirius. As I was saying: Severus, you must remain where you are, you are our last member at Hogwarts. We will contact you when we can, I pray that may be by dawn. Protect the school, Severus. We all trust you." 

There was a twin snort from Snape and the harsh speaker; then a soft chime rose and fell, and Snape began shuffling around his office. The interview was indubitably over. 

Beth realized, in a jolting awareness of her surroundings, that she still stood in the middle of the dark hallway. She gave a start and ducked into one of the Potions laboratories. If Snape were to catch her, after hearing all that-! 

She had understood very little of the conversation. Dumbledore's voice lent urgency to the words but little to their meaning. In fact, she was sure of only one thing - and that, absolutely, instinctively certain. 

The Dark Lord was going to be at the Department of Mysteries, and he was likely to be occupied there all night. 

Beth's path was clear before her. She did not permit herself to stop and think - there was no time, she must act from the gut. As silently as a shadow, she slipped back into the hall and fled upstairs to Umbridge's abandoned office. A few lazy flames still licked the black logs in the floor of the fireplace; Beth took a handful of Floo powder from the mantle and hurled it in, making the flames leap and turn green. 

"Hogsmeade Village." 

The Floo Network spat her into the empty Owl Post building, with its warm fetid air and shed feathers from the many owls perched in the rafters. Beth did not bother to leave the building; she took out her wand and cleared her mind. 

"Apparate." 

The familiar winds rose and fell around her. She saw a whirling town, clouds spinning, trees dancing - then there came the jolt, the sudden stop of the carousel. Her feet landed in the marshy earth of the Little Hangleton graveyard. 

She ran, half-crouching, through the churchyard and up to the Society sepulcher. 

The Dark Lord would be in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore himself had said in. If he was in London, he was not in the crypt - they knew his location without fear of being found - he could not spy on them, for a few scant hours - they had the crypt to themselves. 

Beth burst into the crypt, her heart pounding with excitement. The time had come, the moment was at hand. She needed Richard. She needed to call him. How to get a message to him so quickly-? 

Her eyes fell on the upper corner of the crypt. 

Of course! 

She lit her wand with a golden glow; then, squarely facing the sensory amulet that sent images to Richard's eye patch, she traced backwards in the air: 

COME NOW AND   
BRING THE BOMBS

Her words hung, golden and shimmering, in the air for many moments. When they faded she traced them again; halfway through the fourth time, there was a soft whoosh as someone materialized through the door of the crypt. She broke off and whirled to face him, dispersing the words with a hasty wave of her hand. 

It was Richard. Beth let out her breath in a rush; she hadn't even realized she was holding it. His brown hair was mussed; his cloak was askew on his shoulders. He had the crate of dynamite in his arms. 

"I've got them," he said breathlessly, dumping the crate onto the ground. "Hope you don't mind - I took some time to call in some reinforcements..." 

The door shimmered again; this arrival wore a black ribbed turtleneck and a cap. 

"Blimey, ain't it Miss Parson! Oughter guessed -" 

"Croaker!" said Beth delightedly. 

The former Unspeakable stepped aside to allow a dark-haired girl inside, who went straight up to Rich. 

"Is it time?" said Gypsy, very excitedly. "Is that what you meant?" 

"Beth says it's time," Richard grinned, gesturing towards Beth. 

Two more people had come in: Professor Grubbly-Plank started looking over the explosives, while Dave Gudgeon came up to crush Beth in a hug. "Polyjuice do all right for you, then?" he asked, shaking Richard's hand enthusiastically. 

"Like a charm," said Richard, who was now positively beaming. Another several members had appeared through the enchanted door: Vivian Sicklewise and Daedalus Dellinger, followed closely by Celestina Warbeck and Melissa's uncle Mr. Ollivander. Behind them came Uther Bole, wearing torn robes and covered in mud. 

"This had better be worth it, old sport," he roared to Richard, clapping him on the shoulder, "I was in the middle of a perfectly good victory celebration!" 

"I was about to begin a lesson," came a reedy, irritable voice. Professor Vindictus Viridian elbowed his way through the crowd and stopped before Richard, hands on his hips. "You're certain this is the time?" 

"The Dark Lord is in London right now," Beth spoke up, elation rising within her. "He'll be completely distracted for an hour, at least." Another several people had appeared, some of them only faintly familiar. "We can act right now." 

"What," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, still peering at the contents of the crate, "are we going to do?" 

Richard picked up a stick of dynamite and held it over his head. "This is a Muggle explosive," he said, raising his voice so that it carried over the crowd, "and we're going to blow that wall of names into kingdom come!" 

The crypt filled with excited, flustered voices - but Richard was already calling out orders above the tumult. "Vivian, Dell, Madam Fox and Jerome, you four go to the far corners of the cemetery and keep watch. Mr. Ollivander - Celestina - Ace Arendt - Professor Viridian - you four will patrol closer to the crypt. If you see anything you know how to contact me. The rest of you need to stay inside to help wire these things in place. Beth and I will show you how." 

It was amazing to see the Society alumni, spanning decades of age, obey the orders of the youngest among them. They dispersed according to Richard's directions. The half-dozen remaining members stayed and listened attentively as Richard explained the workings of a stick of dynamite. 

"We need drill holes in the walls, all round, and across the face of them so we can be sure that all the names are at least broken, if not demolished. One stick goes in each hole-see? Now, this is the time fuse. All of them link back to it by wire ... here's how you rig it up - put that _down,_ Uther..." 

After a furious twenty minutes the walls of the crypt were strung with dynamite like paper chains on a Christmas tree. Richard had all of the fuses rigged up to the time fuse, an ominous contraption of wires, devices, and an ancient, brass-belled alarm clock. Dave tinkered with the timer while Richard examined the work one last time. 

"Splendid. Just splendid. Untangle those lines, will you, Croaker - wonderful, that's it." 

Dave finished with the time fuse and stood up. "Fifteen minutes," he told Richard. "Let's move." 

Richard turned to face the rest of them, breathless, with his color high. "This is it. Now clear out and grab the patrollers - I want you all to stay close but be sure to be outside of the range, and be absolutely sure you cast shielding spells. All this will be worthless if part of the crypt comes crashing down on your head." 

He paused, then reached out toward the walls and plucked something down. It was the ring that had rested in the notch beside his name. "I've been wanting this back." 

The members laughed, nervously, and dispersed, leaving the crypt empty and cold. Quickly, creeping like shadows along the grim rows of tombstones, they caught the rest of the patrollers and brought them into a shallow ditch, just past the ridge on which the crypt stood. Its straight square walls loomed against the night sky, as if ready to bear down on them ... its solidity and surety were terrible to behold. _If this works I'll never see this sight again,_ Beth thought, staring at its crisp outline among the proletariat of lesser stones. _Please, please let me never see this again._

Richard turned and counted them one last time. "Are we certain we're all here?" He scowled a bit, examining the inside view of his eye patch, and glanced down at his watch. Finally he nodded and let out a tense little breath of air. "Five minutes and counting. We're ready." 

Gypsy nodded and touched his arm. "We're very ready, Rich." 

"I helped build that crypt over fifty years ago," Professor Grubbly-Plank declared, hunched down beside Croaker with smudges on her nose. "It's time to blow the damn thing to pieces." 

"Hear hear," said Dorothea Fox grimly. "Well done, Shaw." 

Richard took a deep breath. He checked his watch again. "Four minutes." His voice was terse. "Ready those shielding spells. Immediately after we have to-" 

"Hold up, laddie," came Grubbly-Plank's shrill voice. "Something out there." 

They turned their faces to see a solitary figure in black moving quickly toward the crypt. Richard's face paled. "Who-" 

"It's Riggs," breathed Daedalus, squinting into the near-dark. 

Now that his name had been said, Beth could make out the familiar form, the unmistakable stride of Randall Riggs. He made a beeline for the crypt, all the while casting glances right and left. 

"He'll be killed!" cried Vivian, sounding near to tears. "Rich, turn it off!" 

"You can't turn it off!" barked Richard, and his voice held a note of real panic. Brashly, he stood up and waved his arms. "Riggs! Get away from there!" 

Riggs drew up at the sight of the faraway figure waving at him from the ditch. For one long moment he hesitated, just feet from the door of the crypt. Then he turned his face and began once more to approach the sepulcher. 

"_Riggs!_" 

Randall Riggs cast a derisive glance at his former President and disappeared into the crypt. 

Uther Bole leapt to his feet as his classmate vanished. "_We've got to get him out-!_" 

"Uther, there's no time!" cried Beth, trying to hold him back while a dozen other arms did the same. 

"He's trying to dismantle them," Richard said, in a faraway voice. He stared forward, one eye fixed on the crypt and the other focused within on the blurry inside view from his eye patch, wavering from foot to foot as if he wanted to join Uther and go after him, even while Uther struggled against the alumni holding him. "Messing with the-" 

He turned to the others suddenly, face pale. "_Get down!_" 

They threw themselves to the ground. A half a dozen wands raised in the air and shouted the incantation for a force field - but their voices were drowned by an earth-shattering explosion. 

Pebbles and smaller grains rained onto the earth and bounced off the field, like raindrops on a roof. They settled along the edges and collected: sandstone dust, suspended in thin air. Finally the pattering sandstorm came to an end. The fields were removed and bits of rock showered into their hair and onto their backs. One by one, they raised their heads to peer out at the ridge where the Society crypt had stood. 

The skyline was empty. 

For a moment the Society crouched, stunned, in their makeshift foxhole, staring at the bleak outline of foundation that remained barely a foot high, a bleak square in the scorched earth that bore no testament to the fabulous rooms it had housed. The crypt had been annihilated. 

The Society erupted in celebration. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank grabbed Croaker's hand and wrung it exuberantly: "_We did it, that'll show 'im!_" while slow tears rolled down the Unspeakable's face at the thought of the partner this came too late to save. Gypsy Arendt threw her arms around Professor Viridian, almost dancing with delight, while Celestina Warbeck did the same on his other side. 

Dell lifted Vivian by the waist and swept her around in a circle. "_Now_ will you marry me?" he shouted to Vivian, who cried, "_Yes! Yes!_" and planted a kiss on his mouth. 

Richard tore the eye patch from his face and threw it to the ground. "Hope you don't mind-" he tossed to Dave Gudgeon, who shook his head ferociously, and set the round leather patch on fire. It burnt with a scarlet flame, curled in on itself and vanished into ash. 

"Now," he said, turning to Beth with his eyes vivid and taking her by the elbows - but that was all the further he got before she lunged into his arms and kissed him triumphantly, with passion and relief and love. 

They broke apart to find Professor Grubbly-Plank tugging at their arms. "The deed is done, Shaw," she muttered, "now we got to get out of here." 

"Take a bit of your name, if you can find it," Rich called to all of them. "Take it back and destroy it. I want to know that he can never rebuild this thing. I want it to be gone forever." 

One by one the members advanced to the rubble and began to pick through it for pieces of names. A few took large chunks, some small - many chose pieces of any name they could find. Some collected the twisted, melted rings that fused to the shattered sandstone. As this final job was finished, one at a time, they came to Richard, shook his hand, and Disapparated. 

Beth came up to Uther's side. He stood alone and still, gazing at the crater with his fists clutched tightly at his sides. "I wish we had been able to do something," she said quietly. 

"Evil git," he said through his teeth, "bloody traitor..." He ran the back of his hand across his eyes. "But you live with a chap for six years..." 

Beth gave his shoulder a comforting rub and left him alone. 

By now nearly everyone had gone; Dave Gudgeon came over and shook Richard's hand, then swept Beth into a brotherly hug as he left. "We'll be hearing from you, Rich," he called over his shoulder, with a lopsided grin. 

"Count on it," Richard promised. He watched Dave vanish, then turned his head back to Beth. "Well," he said, his voice breaking slightly, "we did it." 

"We're free, Rich," said Beth softly. 

In answer he took hold of her wrist and pushed her sleeve down to reveal the burning red mark on her arm. "Not yet," he said. "But soon. I'm going to take Evan's potion and keep working on it - Hosea can help, he's trustworthy and there's nothing he doesn't know about potions - I'm going to get this thing off you, Beth..." 

"Do that later," Beth said, kissing him again gently. "You did good, Rich." 

"Well." Richard gazed over his shoulder at the ruins of the crypt. "Yeah. I guess so." 

He turned back to her. "We need to get out of here. I'll write you soon; we need to make summer plans. I want to know what you think we should do next..." He broke off. "Later. Right." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Be careful, Beth." 

"You too." She felt dangerously close to tears. "I-" 

Taking a deep breath, she gave Richard a brief, brave smile, took out her wand and Apparated to Hogsmeade Village. 

The roaring winds cast her down onto the dark streets at the edge of town. For long moments she stood there in the barren street, her mind back at the Little Hangleton cemetery. They had done it. They had actually eliminated the crypt ... there was no need to fear the Dark Lord's gaze ... they had done it, and survived. 

But there was Riggs... 

Beth gazed at the dark storefronts, without seeing them. Riggs had made his choice. He had served his master. Now he was no longer a threat. She wished that he had never gone wrong, she wished fervently that he had never died ... but now his chapter had ended. One less thing to fear. 

She heaved a deep sigh and started walking down the road toward the school, her mind full of what she had seen. A year ago she had done the same, after that first terrible Death Eater meeting - she wondered what Lycaeon was doing at that moment - the awful explosion of the Society sepulcher still echoed in her ears - she thought of Dell and Vivian, spinning around together, desperately in love, and a little smile crossed her face. There was still some good in the world after all. 

It was a long walk back to the castle. Beth took it at her leisure; surely no one at the school would be much concerned about her whereabouts, they were all asleep or busy themselves - she thought of Snape and wondered precisely what he had been up to that evening. Well, she thought, mounting the steps to the Entrance Hall with a long-postponed yawn, there would be plenty of time to find that out in the morning... 

She trudged up to the infirmary, as Professor Snape had ordered her to do hours ago. To her amazement, Madam Pomfrey was still awake, ministering to the Inquisitorial Squad even in her nightdress and robe. 

"I wondered where you went," she clucked, taking Beth by the arm and pulling her over to an empty cot. "Nodded off, have you? I want you here overnight, young lady. Open your mouth, now-" 

Beth opened her mouth dutifully and let the school nurse peer down her throat. For once she wanted to feel taken care of. The long night was beginning to wear on the edges of her mind. She held out her wrist to let Madam Pomfrey take her pulse, her eyelids drooping under long-postponed sleep. 

The mark on her forearm burst into pain like the scalding of a brand. 

"Ow -" Beth said aloud, clutching her arm. "Shoot..." 

That was when Evan Wilkes began to scream. 

Both Madam Pomfrey and Beth froze in horror. They rotated toward him. Evan was writhing on the hospital cot, arching his back, grabbing at the bedsheets convulsively. The terrible noise echoed through the infirmary and down into the halls. Some of the Inquisitorial Squad jerked awake and sat up in their cots to gape at the agonized boy. 

The ache in Beth's arm intensified. The Dark Lord called to his followers in pain ... whatever potion Evan had taken had spread the Dark Mark all over his body... 

"I have to go," Beth stammered. Madam Pomfrey, who had rushed to Evan's side and was struggling to hold him down, didn't look like she heard her over the screams. Aware that, as always, the Dark Lord would not wait, Beth hurried away and left Evan in excruciating pain. 

She turned a corner and ran smack into a large black figure. 

Beth reeled backward, too flustered to apologize. She started forward again, but the man she had bumped into caught her arm. "Miss Parson." 

She turned and looked into the face of Professor Severus Snape. 

There wasn't time for careful speech or pointless concealment; the sounds of agony, dulled by many walls, still hung in the air. "Yes, it's Evan," she said bluntly. 

Snape pursed his lips. "I suspected as much. We'll use the unguarded fireplace in our Headmistress's office," he said, glancing up the hall toward the infirmary. Side by side, they turned and hurried down the corridor. 

Professor Umbridge's office was dark and empty, an utter shambles, just as it had been left. Professor Snape didn't bother to turn on the lights; rather, he flicked his wand to send a blue fire roaring into the fireplace. He grabbed some Floo powder and chucked it in among the flickering logs. 

"The Riddle House, Little Hangleton." Snape took her by the arm and they both stepped into the fireplace. 

Grates and mantles swept past them like the cars of a passing train. Beth had always been weak-stomached on the Floo network, but Professor Snape was a bastion of calm, a tower amid the raging winds. She let him be her support as the network flew by. Finally there came a jolt like a stopping train, and they stepped (Beth stumbling) into a wood-and-velvet room, of magenta, paneling and lace. 

The cobwebbed room may have been a drawing room once, or a smoking room. High-backed chairs and round wooden tables still cluttered the edges of the tightly-packed little room. Apart from the two of them, the room was empty. 

"I shall accompany you back to the castle," Snape murmured, and brushed past without so much as a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

The room was shabby with age. Beth took a moment to herself, gathering her courage, gazing from tapestry to portrait to chair. Had the room not been so dark, it would have looked almost ordinary - she imagined it had once even been inviting. 

"Ordinary," she murmured to herself, barely moving her lips. There wasn't a magical object in the room. This was a house of Muggles. It seemed a strange headquarters for a man who despised them. 

"B-Beth." 

Beth turned before she realized that it was imprudent to respond to her own name. At the sight of the speaker, she snatched up her wand. "Get away from me." 

Chris Parson held up both hands. "I w-won't hurt you. I'm s-so sorry. I know you n-now, see? I d-didn't - I can hardly remember coming h-home..." 

He had the features of their father, but it was the haunted expression that struck her - it was identical to the one that Lycaeon had worn, even a year after his release. She lowered her wand. 

"Dad didn't wake up for a whole day," she said harshly. It was all she could think to say. "He almost died." 

An almost pitiful expression of relief washed over Chris's worn face. "Oh," he said, shoulders sagging. "Oh, I'm s-so glad ... I thought I had ... and I was af-f-fraid to go back..." He put his hands over his face. 

Beth acted purely on instinct. She put her wand in her pocket, went up to him, and wrapped her arms around him. 

She expected him to tense or recoil. Instead he melted in her embrace, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder. She realized that he had not been hugged in fifteen years. 

"You used t-to be so small," he whispered. "And I thought I w-w-would always p-protect you..." 

"Don't come home," she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. "The Ministry will catch you." 

She felt no fear now, though she held her attacker in her arms. Chris had been broken back to childhood. She possessed all the strength of will, mind and spirit that he had lost. She felt him feed on it and grow stronger. Now that he knew her, now that they had met, she had nothing to fear from him. 

A strange and lonely sound, smooth as a mountain horn and resonant as a gong, filled the air. Chris raised his eyes, turning his face toward the doorway. "He calls." 

Beth had been dreading this. "Stand by me," she said, taking his hand even as they pulled apart. 

"I c-c-can't." Chris still stared at the open door. "I have a p-p-place." 

Beth knew that and hated it. 

"We m-must go," said Chris, starting toward the door. 

"Masks," she reminded him kindly. She conjured one for herself and Chris cast his own spell - his mask was lopsided, cockeyed and tattered, much like the mind which had made it. Beth let her brother pass and followed him out of the drawing room. 

The hall led into a vast and shabby ballroom. Broken chairs cluttered the walls; across from the entrance, a bar counter had sagged in the middle, littered with long-empty glass bottles. The great crystal chandelier was dark, though beneath the years of dust a few gems still sought to twinkle. The room was crowded with men - identically hooded, quietly mingling, brothers in the giving and getting of terror. As the echoes of the gong faded away, they took their places in the now-familiar ring, each one in his position, though there were many places unfilled that night. Beth thought of Evan, in agony but far away, and wondered whether she felt pity or envy. 

Just as the last of the Death Eaters stepped into his position, the crystal chandelier burst into green flame. 

From the floor rose the Dark Lord himself, a swirl of black robes, the hood throwing shadows on his gaunt pale face. Instantly, Beth knew that this was going to be bad. His eyes crackled with fury. Heat waves seemed to emanate from his very being; whether by the tensely curled fingers or the tightly pressed lips, he was clearly at the very height of his anger. 

Some fool spoke up. "My lord? How did it-?" 

"_Crucio._" 

The screams went on for far longer than Beth expected, almost longer than she could stand. When the Dark Lord raised his wand at last, it was with no satisfaction, as if even the inflicting of pain could not undo his wrath. He turned from the victim, still panting and whimpering on the floor, and swept his eyes around the ring. 

"The best among you have failed me. I have been _utterly denied_." 

A few hesitant murmurs of apology and denial. 

"_My wrath will be felt!_" 

The rage of the Dark Lord was terrifying. His red eyes burned around the circle. Beth had never seen him in his fury; she understood, now, how he had become the most powerful wizard of the age. Who could dare to stand against that torrent of hate? 

"As if the _irretrievable bungling_ of my plans was not enough, in my absence my headquarters was infiltrated," he gnashed out, the reedy cold voice almost shaking. "The graveyard was defiled. A tomb was destroyed. _I want to know who is responsible._" 

There was a harsh motion from the other side of the circle, and one of the wizards tore off his mask. 

It was Riggs. His face was battered and swollen, with blood down the side of his face and one eye totally eclipsed in a nova of black and blue. He took two lopsided, painful steps toward the Dark Lord. 

"I know," he said, and his voice was harsh. 

He aimed a shaking, bloody finger at directly Beth. 

"It was her." 

Time hung in stunned stillness. 

Beth took a step back, unwittingly. Instantly, the Death Eaters on either side of her backed away, leaving her alone and exposed at the edge of the circle. 

The Dark Lord flicked his wand in her direction. A powerful updraft breezed around her and tore the mask from her head. 

Until that moment, Lord Voldemort had never looked her full in the face. The instant his red eyes fell on her, all Beth's strength seemed to melt and run from her body, leaving stark paralyzing terror. She felt naked, she felt weak - the palms of her hands ached with fear and her head swam at the sight of his pitiless inhuman face. She had neither the strength nor the presence of mind to wonder what would happen next. The dread that settled low in her chest was borne not of fear or doubt, but of certainty. She had finally reached the end. 

"My Lord." Riggs's voice was thick with madness. "I beg you." 

The Dark Lord cast him a glance; then a half-smile crept to his face and he swept his hand toward Beth, still frozen, petrified and helpless in expectation. "You may." 

Riggs raised his wand, a mad, malicious smile splitting his torn and bloody face. Beth's chest hurt, her heart pounded as if willing her to feel those last precious beats. There was no time, no time. A thousand images crowded her mind so that she lost them all. In her last living act, she closed her eyes. 

"_Avada Kedavra._" 

There was a whoosh of air. 

The world went silent. 


	31. The End of All Things

**Chapter Thirty-One: The End of All Things**

Beth opened her eyes. 

Randall Riggs stood stock-still, his wand pointed straight at her, motionless in shock. The Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably, nudged one another, gestured. Beth followed their motions with her eyes and found herself staring at the ground beneath her feet, where her brother Chris lay motionless and disheveled, a green light just fading from the edges of his face. 

Beth had no time to think of what had happened - she was alive, that was all she could process in one moment. There was no time to be wasted. Beth snatched her wand from her pocket and brought it down with a ferocious swish. _Someplace safe,_ she thought without thinking. 

"_Apparate!_" 

She was caught in a thousand winds and jerked through space indiscriminately, a rag doll on the ocean, a fly on the side of a speeding train. Her gut wrenched with nausea; she felt her head begin to pound, her hands grow numb. Apparation had never been this bad. She couldn't tell which way was up - her body spun in all directions at once as unseen forces plucked at her limbs. 

_I didn't specify,_ Beth thought, or perhaps screamed. _I'm going to die anyway._

The torrent ended and she was dropped three feet onto hard earth. 

For long moments she lay on her back, unmoving. Her vision was starred and black; her head pounded, her insides twisted. Finally the feeling crept back into her extremities. A cool breeze flicked across her forehead and she reached up to brush it; she was drenched with sweat, as if she'd had a fever. Her eyes cleared, but the stars and dark remained: she was staring into the deep blue pre-morn sky, with just a few branches cutting across the wide expanse like black lightning. 

Branches...? 

Slowly, gritting her teeth, Beth sat up. There were trees here, thick ones, old and gnarled, trees that had never seen a woodsman's hand - nor that of any man at all. An eerie stillness shook the leaves. No birds called out, but there seemed to be small things skulking among the underbrush; the long dark spaces suggested much larger things, perhaps asleep, or perhaps only waiting, crouched, for the proof that she was living meat... 

Beth took a deep, ragged breath. This was not the safe place she had sought as she frantically cast a difficult spell. But ... if she had at least escaped the Death Eaters... 

A crackling twig broke the quiet. 

Beth's head snapped up. Instantly she was on her feet, her wand quaking before her. Something was coming at her from deeper in the forest - slowly and quietly, but relentless. Wand outstretched, Beth took a step backward, and another, until she felt the bracing strength of a tree trunk at her back. "_Come and get me,_" she hissed viciously, voice shaking. "_Dare you._" 

The footsteps continued, unfaltering. Beth swept her eyes across the dark forest but could not make out the form of her attacker. She had no doubt of what it would be. Riggs, back to finish the job ... maybe another Death Eater, or a handful, to be sure it got done ... or perhaps even the Dark Lord himself... 

A silver glow burst into the clearing. 

Beth stared into the dazzling silver face of a full-grown unicorn. Its horn shone in the semi-dark; the silky mane caught the moonlight like strands of glass. 

"Oh," she said, too overcome with its beauty to be afraid, too awed to cry out. "You're so lovely..." 

The unicorn stepped closer, nickering gently. Its silver hide shone like moonlight; the great dark eyes were penetrating. The wand fell from her hand. 

Lifting its shining hooves one by one, the unicorn advanced until they were face-to-face. Beth was conscious of something rising within her and around her - like an envelope of warm air, a lightness of heart. Her skin seemed to tingle. The unicorn was terrifying in its goodness, dreadfully pure. Beth felt, as she had never felt before, the utter filth and unworthiness of her own soul. She wanted to shrink back - but the unicorn advanced, and its purity was overwhelming... 

Beth threw her arms around the glowing neck and burst into tears. 

Neither of them moved for many moments; Beth's shoulders shook, her face buried in the silky mane. Finally she was able to raise her head, stroking the velvet nose, a last few trails of tears on her face. 

The unicorn pulled its head away, and Beth choked back another sob at the loss of its touch. The great beast nuzzled her neck comfortingly, and began to nudge the edge of her sleeve with his horn. 

"No..." Beth murmured, reaching up to its cheek, "there's nothing under there you want to see..." 

But the unicorn was persistent. With a flick of its horn, it laid bare the pale skin and the throbbing red skull burnt into it. 

Beth swallowed hard and turned from the sight of it, gazing instead at the huge brown eyes just inches from her own. The unicorn nickered comfortingly as it lowered the tip of its horn to touch the Dark Mark. Then it drove its horn deep into her flesh. 

A cry wrenched from her throat. Agony, sharper than the rash, stronger than the call of the Dark Lord, deeper than the burn - 

Very slowly, the unicorn drew out of her arm and stepped away. 

The skin was unbroken. 

Beth stared. Then she whirled toward the unicorn, but the creature was on its knees, shaking its head roughly and letting out hoarse neighs. Finally, the shadow of a skull slid like fog from between the silver lips. It met the empty air and was gone. 

Gone. 

Beth held up her forearm, rubbed it harshly, peered at the skin in the pale light. She checked the other arm. 

The Dark Mark was gone. 

The unicorn struggled to its feet and clip-clopped toward her, nudging her shoulder with curious compassion. "It's gone," Beth told the unicorn, showing off the smooth inside of her arm. "It's gone - thank you-!" 

The unicorn tossed its silvery head. _Of course it's gone._ It nuzzled Beth's cheek in a strangely familiar way: like a mother, a grandmother. Somehow it had transferred to Beth its own purity. She was clean ... she was safe ... she was free. 

The unicorn nudged her elbow: _Come with me._ Beth picked up her wand and laid a hand on the white neck, allowing it to lead her across the clearing and between the ancient trees, still not knowing where she was but certain somehow that she would be led aright. The very presence of the splendid creature made her feel warm and protected. Her mind was not clear, yet; but it was calm. 

The sky above lightened as they traveled, girl and beast, until those first fresh rays of sunlight began to outline the treetops. Beth realized, as the dawn broke over her face, that she had been awake all night. She had not done such a feat since the night before her final Alchemy project was due; but she felt relaxed and increasingly alert as the sun rose higher. After all, who knew what had happened in the past few hours? Who knew what challenges she had yet to face? 

The unicorn paused, nickering gently and tossing its head to sniff the air. In the silence that fell as the hoofbeats ceased, she heard a strange far-off rustle of activity, like a county fair from many miles away. The unicorn cocked its ears. Then it set off toward the noise. Beth hesitated only a moment before continuing on at its side. 

This last stretch of walking lasted barely a quarter of an hour. Before Beth realized what was happening, the trees thinned, the underbrush grew more trampled and the light broke through the high bowers until they stood on the very edge of the forest - facing the stone towers and parapets of Hogwarts castle. 

Beth let out a shout of relief. It had never occurred to her for a minute that she had landed in the Forbidden Forest. After all that - she _had_ been brought somewhere safe. 

She turned back to the unicorn, beaming ... but the great creature was gone. 

She felt an unexpectedly poignant sense of loss. Already she missed the comforting presence by her side. Perhaps it was best that the unicorn had slipped away; she might have never been able to leave it. 

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet. Beth guessed that breakfast had ended but lunch had not yet begun; with N.E.W.T.s, O.W.L.s and finals over, there was no need to gather in the classrooms or library to study. Feeling oddly conspicuous in the silent hallways, Beth made her way down to the dungeons. 

It seemed like every member of Slytherin house was packed into the common room, clustered together and talking urgently. As Beth looked closer it became clear that the Inquisitorial Squad, for the most part healed from the previous night's battle, formed the epicenter of these groups; they must have been among the only people in the school who had any idea what had happened. Beth moved through the crowds, keeping her head low and hoping not to be spotted. Of course, she was no more than halfway across the room when Bruce, Herne, and Oren came at her from different directions, each with a relieved expression on his face. 

"Look," Beth said, when they got close, "I'm not feeling well, I just want to go lie down..." 

"Get Melissa," Bruce ordered Oren, who nodded. "Herne, tell the others they can stop patrolling." He took Beth by the elbow and led her back to the girls' dormitories. "We've been watching for you all night," he told Beth, who followed along too puzzled and tired to complain. "We didn't know where you'd come in so we've got people everywhere from the Astronomy Tower to Umbridge's fireplace... Michael warned us that he saw you come in." 

"Michael?" said Beth. 

"We thought we could use a little help," said Bruce firmly. "The Guild has been up with us all night, taking shifts." 

He stopped in front of the door to the seventh-year girls' bedroom. "Dumbledore's back," he said, not letting go of her arm. "Umbridge is still missing. The Inquisitorial Squad has been telling us all day what happened yesterday evening, but it doesn't explain where you went. We heard Evan, and-" 

"You _heard_ him from clear up in the infirmary?" said Beth incredulously. 

"- and we got worried," Bruce finished grimly. 

Melissa came dashing down the hall, looking frantic, and pulled to a halt before them. "_Beth,_" she said, and hugged her fiercely. "Thanks, Bruce, I've got her from here," she said to Bruce, who nodded and left. "Come inside," she ordered. She ushered Beth into the bedroom and locked the door. 

"Now," she said, in a rage borne of deep worry, "sit down here by me and tell me exactly where you've been." 

It took surprisingly little time for Beth to sum up all she had seen and done in the past few hours. Then it was Melissa's turn: the students who had escaped from the Inquisitorial Squad had returned and were up in the infirmary (the Guild was working on a way to find out where they had been), already at breakfast Dumbledore, who had reappeared at the Head Table with no explanation for his absence, had told them that the Dark Lord had appeared in the Ministry of Magic, and they had been trying all morning to elaborate on his words. Draco's father had been arrested at the Ministry, too, he had received notice from his mother that morning, and then the Society rings had gone cold like they only did when someone died- 

"What was that?" said Beth, startled by Melissa's story for the first time. "I didn't notice that." 

"It was very early," said Melissa, looking at her hands. "We asked Audra to look into it. Riggs died this morning." 

"Oh." Beth slumped back, stunned. "It must have been just after..." She paused. "Chris was killed too," she said aloud. "All those years I thought he was dead. Now he's really done it." 

"Beth, I'm so sorry," said Melissa, with feeling. 

It was a hard thing to understand, her brother's passing. "I still won't be able to see thestrals," said Beth suddenly, and a short unbidden laugh came up to her throat. "I closed my eyes." 

The laugh came again. Then it bubbled into gasps, then sobs; and Beth buried her face in Melissa's shoulder and cried for the brother she would never really know. 

-'-'-

When she had finally run out of tears, Melissa ushered Beth across the room and ordered her to bed. Beth didn't want to go, but she lay down anyway, planning to get back up as soon as Melissa left her alone ... and the next thing she knew, it was nearly dinnertime. She had slept for almost ten hours. 

She changed hurriedly and headed out to the dungeons. Now that she could think clearly, she realized that she had something very important-something miraculous-to tell to Professor Snape... 

She burst into Snape's office with uncharacteristic brashness. The Potions Master was at his desk, writing something with a stunted black quill. He glanced up at her. Instantly, his eyes flickered in surprise; he raised a hand and the door closed behind her. Only then did Beth realize what a terribly foolish thing she had done. She froze in the doorway. 

Her hand went for her pocket... It was empty. She had left her wand on the bedside table. 

Professor Snape stood up, almost courteously. "Miss Parson. I was unsure I would see you alive again." He gestured toward the chair facing his desk. "Have a seat." 

Cotton-mouthed, Beth shook her head. 

"I don't know what you've done to the Dark Lord," Snape went on, "and, for many reasons, I have no wish to know. Do sit down." At her hesitation, he snapped, "Miss Parson, I have no intention of dying myself." 

Beth made herself speak. "What are you talking about?" 

"Your brother sacrificed himself to save you," Professor Snape said, his impatient tone reducing the awesome words to a mere fact. "Much the same as Harry Potter's mother once did. It became a ward against the touch of the Dark Lord. One or two of the more foolish Death Eaters may try to find you," he added, "but I do not want to test that protection, and I think the Dark Lord himself is going to keep well clear of you. Now, given recent events, will you please explain to me why you have invaded my office?" 

His attitude was no different than usual. Could it be that they had carried their charade of indifference so far that it had actually become fact? If that was the case, then she had something to show him. She rolled up both her sleeves and held them out to display the unblemished skin. 

He glanced down at them with a scowl-but as he realized what he was seeing, he turned his eyes back to Beth's face, agog. 

"How have you done this?" 

"A unicorn took it away," Beth told him. 

Snape's shoulders fell almost imperceptibly. "Full grown?" Beth nodded. "Then you have found a nontransferable solution," he said, with a hint of disappointed sneer. "No full-grown unicorn would do such a thing for a grown man ... or even a sixteen-year-old boy." 

Beth lowered her arms, just as disappointed. It had not occurred to her that the unicorn may have been attracted simply by her youth and gender. 

"Nevertheless," Snape went on slowly, "it may not hurt to include a unicorn component as a cure for Mr. Wilkes. It was the horn, I presume?" 

"Yes." 

"Then I shall make a salve. I have the powdered version in my supply." He paused. "Mr. Riggs has been killed. By all accounts he has failed the Dark Lord one too many times." 

"I'm going to finish up that last test on Evan's potion tonight," said Beth, to avoid speaking of Riggs. 

Professor Snape inclined his head, just slightly. "After that, we will see what can be done." 

-'-'-

The Society for Slytherin Advancement met the following evening at midnight. 

Between the Guild, school rumor, and the rather scant report from the Daily Prophet, they had a fairly good idea what had happened in Professor Umbridge's office and at the Ministry of Magic. Beth filled in about the mission to the crypt and the rough circumstances surrounding Riggs's death. They were a captive audience: they reacted vehemently at learning that Richard was alive, and when she told them that the Society crypt had been demolished a few of them actually cheered. 

"I don't think I'd be celebrating just yet," interrupted a sardonic voice. Evan Wilkes, looking paler and thinner than ever after his long illness, had spoken up from the corner. "In case you've forgotten, he still knows who we are." 

Beth looked at him without rancor. He was still weak from over a month abed, but she knew that his disappointment raged even stronger. The potion that Snape had concocted of unicorn had undone the damage of Evan's failed project; but it could not clear the skull on his arm. 

"We must stay on our guard," Melissa agreed, addressing them all, "but our biggest problem has been solved." 

She smiled suddenly. It may have been the first time she had smiled during a meeting all year. 

"I think we're going to be all right." 

-'-'-

The following days were a flurry of activity as the seventh-years struggled to wrap up all the loose ends of their Hogwarts careers. 

Beth received a job offer from the Department of Mysteries, with a hastily scrawled addendum from Mr. Schrowde claiming that the events of the previous week were "highly unusual" and that they "expected no further infiltrations by the Dark Lord or any other malevolent force." Beth sent an owl in reply within an hour, thanking them kindly and turning down the job in no uncertain terms. The week's activities had finally made up her mind. The Department of Mysteries, intriguing though it was, was the last place she wanted to be. 

Beth was busy on a personal front as well. To ease Louisa's mind about the banshee, Beth told her that she had heard about Chris's death from her father. She also sent a letter to her father saying she had heard about it from Louisa. She doubted very much that they would ever be able to compare notes and wonder how Beth had really come to know the truth. 

For the moment, the Society had agreed that their founder was a latent threat. Now that the Ministry of Magic was actively acknowledging the return of the Dark Lord, he and his followers would have their hands full. Perhaps they wouldn't have the time to track down a handful of dissenters. 

Before anyone realized it, they gathered in the Great Hall on the last day before the Hogwarts Express would carry them away from the castle for the last time. Beth had imagined many times the somber scene, those last shared meals, those last goodbyes. What she had not expected was the casual normalcy that would not surrender to sentiment. It could have been a breakfast any day of the year. Students quibbled about the British/Irish Quidditch League, fought for each other's sausages, split up the Daily Prophet, spilled the marmalade. Perhaps most familiar of all, near the end of the table the fifth-years were complaining. 

"No O.W.L.s results until July!" said Blaise indignantly. "I thought your class got them before school let out." 

"They did," said Herne. He shot Mervin a questioning look. "Are the N.E.W.T.s going to be late this year too?" 

"Yup," said Mervin, drowning his French toast in ketchup. 

"Faith, tha wait's fair welcome," said Morag. 

"I hope they get the N.E.W.T.s results out sooner than that," Melissa griped. "I need those to find a job..." 

"A job?" Beth raised her eyebrows, astonished. "I always thought you were just going to join the wand business." 

"Well," said Melissa, with a bashful kind of grin, "I thought I'd try being on my own for a while. I might even try to work abroad. I never really do tire of Spain..." 

"Or Russia?" Beth teased, thinking of Andrei Gregorovich. 

"Well-" Melissa said again, and blushed pink. 

Bruce strolled up and plopped into the seat beside Melissa. "I've been to see Dumbledore," he told them. 

Melissa was visibly anxious to turn the discussion from her love life. "Oh? Doing what?" 

"Getting my expulsion reversed," said Bruce, with a wry grin. "He says that all decisions that Umbridge made in office were nullified when she got ousted." He nodded toward Beth's robes, where the silver Inquisitorial Squad badge was still affixed. "Which means you can get rid of that thing, too." 

She tore the I-shaped badge from her chest and flung it out the window. 

The familiar hooting and rustling heralded the owl post. Today hundreds of winged messengers dropped their packages on the students and teachers: suddenly news from home was more pressing than ever. 

A plain brown envelope drifted onto Beth's plate; another landed near Melissa, yet another by Bruce, and on and on down the table into the hands of each Society member. Beth and Melissa exchanged looks of dread. The last time this had happened was at the end of the previous year, when Nott had sent the worst news of all... 

Gritting her teeth, Beth slid open the letter. 

_Fellow Members of the Society for Slytherin Advancement _

Owing to the incarceration of former Secretary of the alumni Mr. Ebenezer Nott, and owing to the destruction of the Society headquarters in the Little Hangleton churchyard, I am pleased to report that each member is free to join or refrain from the war as he sees fit. 

Gloria serpens. 

The message was unsigned. 

Melissa turned to Beth, her eyes shining. "Oh Beth, he _did it._" 

"Did you ever doubt?" said Beth, betraying her own answer with her relief. 

"Well, I got a bit worried when he died." 

"You know that would never stop him." 

"Yeah." Melissa laughed. "I know now." 

She turned to Bruce joyfully. "Bruce, isn't it-" 

She broke off. Bruce had set aside Richard's letter in favor of another, which he held in both hands, reading intently. The parchment was black, with a large white image of a bird in the top right corner. 

"What's that?" said Beth, leaning over to see better. 

"Dear Mr. Bletchley," Bruce read, his voice almost trembling, "our scouts have spent this past year observing Quidditch games held at Hogwarts School. Due to your impressive level of ability - and exemplary show of sportsmanship - I am pleased to invite you to try out for the reserve practice team for the Montrose Magpies!" Bruce finished with a shout. "We expect you to arrive at our training complex prepared to fly on -" 

Muscular though Bruce was, Beth and Melissa encountered no trouble at all in tackling him joyously to the ground. 

-'-'-

The day passed too quickly; the Leaving Feast fled seemingly in moments; the train ride the following morning had never seemed so short. When it drew into London, the seventh-years disembarked and stood together on the platform, each unwilling to be the first to go their separate ways. 

"It's not the end, you know," said Melissa. 

"Of course not," said Beth, almost scornfully. "You have to stop over and visit this summer. We'll go see all of Bruce's games together..." 

"Assuming they hire me," Bruce added, his ears reddening. 

"I'll be seeing you at the Ministry," Mervin said to Warrington, who had Antigone on one arm and Aaron at his side. "Our interviews are the same day." 

"I'll be there too," Aaron spoke up brightly. "Think I'll try and work security. Top pay for an easy desk job. They say all you have to be able to do is use a scale." 

"I'm going to have a dinner party next Halloween," Melissa decided. "You must all be there." 

There was a moment of silence. They smiled bravely at each other. 

"See you then." 

"Have a good summer." 

"Catch you soon." 

"Good luck." 

They fanned out across the station, their paths like spokes on a wheel. Each of them had a separate direction, a separate destination, a separate future; but they all knew that they would never lose their shared past. 


	32. The Girl From Dorset

**Chapter Thirty-Two: The Girl From Dorset**

Not long after the end of the school year, Beth met Richard in the public garden near the entrance to his home.

She didn't see him at first, which was entirely expected; he wore an Invisibility Cloak that he had scrounged from one of the members. Concealed together, they passed through the hidden gate, across the vast gardens, in through a secret entrance and up to the third floor, where Richard's quarters had been.

The door to his bedroom was sealed tight with locking spells. Richard spent a full two minutes undoing them one by one before they could slip inside and finally remove the stifling cloak.

The rooms had changed very little since Beth had seen them ten months ago; in fact, some of the things on Richard's desk and shelves hadn't moved an inch. The place was dustless, presumably thanks to the house-elves, but the air still hung stale: it had clearly not been opened since his "death."

Richard shucked off his knapsack and began going through his drawers for clean clothes, without speaking. He had told Beth he wanted to return for some of his things, which she only partially believed; she expected that he wanted to see what the place had become in his absence, and perhaps catch a last glimpse of his parents. While he was occupied, she took a look around at the decorations. Most of it had been tastefully arranged regardless of the personality of the occupant, but here and there something struck her - a badly-fabricated wooden boat, a photograph of a very young brown-haired boy - and she understood why the Shaws had chosen to close these rooms forever.

Something moved near the door.

Wobbly the house-elf tottered in from the bathroom, carrying a bucket of soapy water that was much too big for him. He spotted them, let out a frightened "Eep!" and dropped the bucket with a clang.

Richard's eyes lit up. "Wobbly!"

The house-elf, who looked as if he was preparing to bolt, paused at the sound of his name. "You must not be in the forbidden rooms!" he squeaked.

Richard laughed. "Yes, but they're _my_ rooms."

Wobbly shook his head violently. "No no, these rooms have always been empty, sir, always must be clean but no people allowed!"

Richard cast a bewildered glance at Beth and turned back to Wobbly. Suddenly, a look of astonishment dawned across his face and he put a hand to his mouth. Richard took three long steps forward and scooped up Wobbly under the armpits like a toy.

"Did you drink a potion?"

Wobbly nodded vigorously. He still looked terrified.

"All of it?"

"Every drop, sir." His eyes were wide. "Very important. Because..." His eyes swam out of focus. "Very important," he repeated, without conviction. "Wobbly isn't sure why..."

Richard let go of the house-elf, who instantly vanished. He turned around, pale-faced, and stared at Beth.

"If Wobbly drank the Lethe Elixir," he began, slowly, "then..."

Footsteps clattered in the hallway.

Richard's mother burst into view, her dressing-gown swirling around her, wand outstretched, her thin face pale. For a moment she stopped in the doorway. As still as a statue, she locked eyes with her son, her wand pointed at his chest. The air was unbreathable.

Mrs. Shaw let her wand fall to the floor. "My _son_."

There was no question in her eyes. There was no doubt of who she saw before her. This was no illusion, no trick. She raised her trembling hands, stepped forward, and cupped her son's face. She stared up into the brown eyes so like her own, looking back at her with terror and hope. Then she put her hands over her own face and fell into his chest, burying her face from sight, while he wrapped his arms around her and let his cheek rest on the top of her head, unbidden tears leaking into her hair.

Mrs. Shaw drew back with a deep, ragged breath. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, throat husky, "I almost ... I tried to..."

"I know," said Richard, his own voice hoarse. "It's okay."

Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway and Richard's father tore into the bedroom, with Wobbly panting at his heels. He stopped as suddenly as if he had hit an invisible wall.

Richard's shoulders tightened; he stood straighter. "Father," he began, like a doomed man before the judge, "I know that I have always been less than you wanted..."

"No, no, no," said Mr. Shaw, all strength and aloofness sliding away. "My greatest pride."

And he strode to his son and embraced him like a child.

Wobbly peeked from behind Mr. Shaw's ankle, an open disbelief on his batlike features. "All are happy, miss," he squeaked at Beth, bewildered, "but Wobbly does not understand..."

Tearing away from his father's grasp, Richard grabbed the house-elf and swung him around like a teddy bear. He set him down and Wobbly instantly tottered and fell. "Wobbly, you wonderful thing, you'll never know why but you did something amazing!"

"Very good, sir," said Wobbly dizzily, trying to get to his feet and failing badly.

They would have helped him up, but the four of them were all crushed in each others' arms.

-'-'-

They did not elaborate on Richard's ruse to his parents - as it turned out, they didn't have to. The Shaws were content with the knowledge that he had gone undercover to fight the Dark Lord. More surprisingly, they accepted that the fight was not over.

"I will do what I can to help you," said Mr. Shaw sternly. "You must have funds, of course-"

"I have all the funds I need for now," said Richard quietly.

For a moment Mr. Shaw looked as if he were gearing up to be greatly offended; then he looked again at his regained son and deflated. "Keep me appraised," he ordered. "I will not see my son in need."

"You must take Wobbly with you," Mrs. Shaw insisted.

Richard glanced down at Wobbly, teetering nearby under a vast silver tea tray. "Of course! That would be wonderful-" He hesitated. The suspicion of unrecognition still hovered on the house elf's face.

"I mean," he said, taking the tea tray from the elf's hands and setting it on the table, "would you mind coming with me, Wobbly?"

Wobbly looked stunned to be suddenly unburdened and addressed. He cast a wide-eyed look at Richard's mother. "Wobbly must ... only serve the family," he said uncertainly.

"You _will_ be serving the family, dear," said Mrs. Shaw encouragingly.

"I know you don't remember, Wobbly," said Richard quietly, "but I've really missed you this year. What do you say?"

When Richard left to return to Knockturn Alley, he had a knapsack full of clothing on his back, Beth at his side, and a house-elf following, somewhat unsteadily, at his heels.

-'-'-

The sultry sounds of Celestina Warbeck's latest hit, _Go Goblins, Goodbye,_ filtered from the radio in the Parsons' sitting room. She finished the final smooth strains and began to speak, her rich voice soothing and full.

"This is Celestina Warbeck for the Witching Hour. Thanks so much for joining me this evening. The Ministry for Magic announced last week the return of a certain Dark Wizard whom we're not allowed to name on this radio station. Brochures have been sent to all wizarding homes in Britain listing precautions; if your kids used it for drawing or your Kneazle used it for a chew toy, you can request another copy by sending an owl to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This is Celestina Warbeck reminding you that the Wizarding Wireless Network fully supports the Ministry in its fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Let's get back to the music. I have Herman Wintringham accompanying me on the lute; this one's called _Shady Days in Shangri-La._ Cue me in, Herm..."

-'-'-

"Russia?" said Mrs. Ollivander.

"Russia," said Melissa firmly.

Her father, seated across the table from her, let out a short, bemused laugh. "Melissa ... you do know that Yakov Gregorovich has owned ninety-nine percent of the Eastern European wand market since..."

"Two hundred A.D.," said Melissa. "I know."

"It would be so _difficult,_" her mother said hesitantly. "To arrange the importation will be a political nightmare. Passing such additional volume through your uncle's workshop will be a challenge ... breaking into the market will be nearly impossible. And the language barrier..."

"Mother, I learned to read the Cyrillic alphabet in Ancient Runes," Melissa said. "And Bruce is teaching me Russian. And I have local contacts from Durmstrang that I met last year." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "If anyone is qualified to open a branch office of Ollivander's in Gregorovich territory, it's me."

Her parents exchanged an uncertain glance.

"I'll Portkey home on weekends," said Melissa.

"Well, darling," said her father at last, "if you're certain you want to try it..."

Melissa beamed. She was certain. And more than that - she thought she was ready.

-'-'-

Daedalus Dellinger approached his editor at the Daily Prophet and slapped a parchment onto his desk.

The gray-haired wizard raised his eyes crankily from the article he was perusing with a magnifying glass. "What is this?"

"My resignation, sir," said Daedalus firmly. "I'll be returning to Transfiguration Today at the start of August. That is my two-week notice."

"But today is only the third of July!"

"I know," said Dell, and broke into a smile. "I need the extra week for my honeymoon."

-'-'-

The pair of third-years gazed around at the Chamber of Secrets.

"Welcome to the Society for Slytherin Advancement," said Blaise Zabini. She stood in front of the skeleton of the basilisk, flanked by Herne and Evan on one side and Morag, Audra, and Oren on the other. "We spent fifty-five years helping to bring the Dark Lord to power. Now, we're working to take it away."

She motioned across the room.

"This is the Guild of the Eagle." Some of the Ravenclaws nodded or waved. "They're our friends."

She glanced around, decisively.

"Let's get started with the meeting, then. We have a lot of work to do."

-'-'-

The autumn sun sank warm and heavy behind a hillock in the countryside of Dorset.

"I wonder what's going to happen," said Beth. Her head lay on Rich's shoulder; their fingers intertwined as they sat together, watching the sun creep down under the curtain of scarlet.

Richard glanced down at her fondly. "How do you mean?"

"Everything." Beth's eyes were fixed into the distance; the soft sunlight bathed her cheeks. "I wonder if Evan is going to get rid of his Dark Mark. I wonder if Melissa is going to end up with Galen or Andrei, or neither. I wonder what's going to happen to Lycaeon, and my mother. I wonder how long before the Dark Lord finds one of us. I wonder how it's all going to turn out."

"Audra might know," said Richard, looking into the pink and orange sky. "Even if she did, though, I'm not sure I'd ask her."

"Why not?" said Beth.

"That's why it all keeps going on, isn't it? Because we don't know what's going to happen. Things keep moving. If we knew how it was going to end, would it be worth waiting to see?"

Beth sat up slowly and turned to look at him. Set sharply against the darkening sky, there was a strength and maturity about his features that hadn't been there a year ago; but she had seen hints of them when they first met. There was also a certain sadness.

"I don't know."

"Nor I." His smile was quieter now. "I think I like it that way."

She let her eyes rest on his hands, stronger and rougher than before, once more bearing the Society ring on his third finger. She remembered something suddenly.

"Oh - I keep forgetting -" Beth reached up and undid her necklace. She took the black opal ring from the chain and held it out shyly toward him. "Your mother gave me this. I ... keep meaning to give it back."

Richard looked at the ring in her hand for long moments. "You know," he said at last, with soft gravity, "why don't you keep it?"

Beth's heart seemed to freeze. It lurched back to life, fluttering like a rabbit's. If the ring really meant what she thought it did...

"I mean-" he said, his face suddenly as frightened as hers, "if you want it - just as a sort of promise..."

"I _do,_" she breathed, flushing pink. "I mean - are you sure?"

"Well ... you know." He shrugged shyly. "It looks silly on me anyway."

Beth couldn't stifle her laugh. Smiling too, Richard took the ring from her and slid it onto her hand, just as Vivian had done with the Society ring many years ago. Beth held up her hand to examine the effect. She thought she saw the spark of his eye in the glint of the stone.

She put her hands back in her lap. "We'd better get back to the house. Dad's waiting."

"Dad," said Richard, smiling thoughtfully. "I like the way that sounds."

"So do I."

He helped her to her feet. The setting sun framed their silhouettes as they started down the hill, side by side. When Richard took her hand, Beth let her fingers lace among his: just an ordinary pair, nothing unusual, but the most amazing thing in the world.

There were many more challenges and many more delights before them. It wasn't exactly happily ever after; but, she thought, gazing down at their joined hands, it would certainly do for now.

**

FINIS

**


End file.
